


The April in His Eyes

by ashotofjac



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, First Times, Friendship's in there too, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:15:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 72,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23516038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashotofjac/pseuds/ashotofjac
Summary: Even always saw his life like an April day—bold, bright, happy. The summer before his senior year of university is all sunshine and blue skies. He has sweet parents who show him what a loving marriage looks like; a beautiful girlfriend who teaches him how to be a better version of himself; and wonderful friends who are always around to fill his days with light—even if that does mean that sometimes he must endure the presence of one Isak Valtersen.But then the clouds start rolling in, and blue skies turn to grey. When Sonja is offered an internship in the U.S. for nine months, she suggests something that nearly breaks his heart: a temporary open relationship for the duration of her time abroad. Even doesn't want anyone else, but in order to keep her, he agrees to the proposal and the rules she puts in place: 1) No discussing hookups with each other; 2) Even can't hook up with Sonja’s friends; 3) No unprotected sex; 4) Don't form romantic attachments with anyone else.The rules don't seem to be a problem. But the longer Sonja is away, the more he is forced to get to know Isak. And when the walls finally come down between he and Isak, he realizes that the rules will be a problem—one in particular: Rule #4.
Relationships: Even Bech Næsheim/Isak Valtersen
Comments: 636
Kudos: 544





	1. A Lover Without a Lover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to dedicate this first chapter to the lovely MinilocIsland, whose recent story inspired me to come back to writing!

The suitcase lay open like a poised bear trap. Its jaws were lined with neat rows of coiled shirts, bundles of twisted skirts and trousers, and stacks of bras that were shiny with pale satin and French lace. She had loaded the corners with underwear of all types: small and stringy, bold animal print, neon bright with bows on the sides, dark and seductive, plain white. Even looked away. 

It was a Sunday in late July, and the day was soaked in heat—the type of heat that shivered over the sidewalks like silver. The window was propped wide open, its mouth heaving with a gorgeous breeze that spiraled around the room and set the thin white curtains to dancing like ghosts. Outside, Oslo was rendered in watercolor and bustling with sound: children playing in the thick grass of the park, the bright tinkle of a passing bike, the thin sound of some faraway pop song. 

He knew that, down at the beach, the water was a rocky blue and the beachwood shaded like bone. All down the strip there were dozens of striped towels sheltered by umbrellas. His own friends were playing a game of volleyball to impress a nearby group of girls. Mikael had texted Even photos every thirty minutes, goading him to hurry over. Even wanted to be there right this instant. But instead he was here. 

He tore his mind from thoughts of the beach and all that he was missing. There would be time enough for that another day—and there _wouldn’t_ be with her. “Do you think this is enough for nine months?”

Sonja looked up from her checklist. Her fingers were stained with blotches of bright blue ink. The pretty tan she had acquired over the first half of summer was rapidly fading after so many days indoors packing and planning. She gave him a slight smile, one that showed more fond pity than he would like. “My mom is shipping the rest over.”

He pursed his lips and nodded, as if he actually cared about the answer. Truthfully, he just wanted to fill the silence. Lately all they had were silences—silences filled with a ballooning tension that perhaps only he was victim to. Sonja never seemed to mind them. 

After a moment she came to him, hooking her elbows around his neck, tight as a noose. Her long nails, painted pink, scratched at his scalp. Even overlapped his hands on the small of her back, placing his fingertips over the dimples at the bottom of her spine. He wondered if— _when_ —someone else might touch her like this. His eyes fell to the floor. He breathed in deeply. 

Her perfume was saccharine, some concoction of cotton candy and warm vanilla. Even’s nose barely twitched at it nowadays. She’d worn this perfume on their very first date six months ago. She’d bought it specifically for the occasion, she had later admitted. Something sweet for him. The sugar scent had risen above even the swirling smells of cheese and garlic in the little Italian restaurant he’d taken her to. In the six months since then, Even had never once told her he couldn’t stand the scent. 

“I’ll miss you,” Sonja told him, smiling. She had said it a thousand times. 

“I’ll miss you too.” He always said it back. 

She pulled back, arms still circled around his neck, sharp nails on his skin. Her pale blue eyes danced back and forth, back and forth, studying his own the same way she studied her poetry and prose. Even stood statue still, knowing that she would find whatever it was that she was looking for, whether it existed or not. Sonja was good at that—finding what she wanted. 

“Are you okay?” Her tone told him that she already knew the answer. It was soft and knowing. Sometimes he hated that she knew him so well. Or perhaps that she _thought_ she did. 

“I’m fine.” Perhaps this was on Even too, for maintaining the silences that he loathed, for not speaking up when he had the chance. 

It was only a moment later that she asked, “Is this about the agreement?”

Even rolled his eyes without meaning to. It was something he had been doing more often as of late. Even had always been, for the most part, a happy person. He liked smiling and laughing, pulling friends into hugs and pressing kisses to his mother’s cheek. But this particular argument—this “agreement”—never failed to dim his lightness like a shade over sunshine. 

They had talked about it no less than a dozen times, this “agreement,” as Sonja liked to call it. Even couldn’t stand the word. “Agreement” implied choice—understanding even. The initial conversation had ended in neither. It had been Sonja’s idea, something she had—in her words—thought long and hard about before she even considered proposing it to him. 

When Sonja had been offered an internship at a publishing house in Los Angeles, Even had been over the moon. He had shared in her excitement as if the accomplishment was his own. They had been friends long before they were a couple, so Even had seen, as both a friend and a boyfriend, the extent to which Sonja worked to achieve her dreams. She was determined, persistent, and tenacious. She wielded her creativity and logic like weapons, which had seen her graduating a year early and eventually earned her the coveted nine month-long internship. 

Unfortunately, it had also led to the “agreement.” It was an understanding, Sonja explained, that, while she was in Los Angeles, they could be in an “open relationship.” They would still talk, would still be committed to their own relationship, but for the duration of her internship, they were free to pursue physical intimacy with other people. 

He remembered the day so clearly, had pressed on the memory like a bruise, until it turned green and yellow. His mind had been foggy with confusion, revulsion, and anger. “You want to fuck other people?” he had asked over and over and over again. But no matter how many times she had said it wasn’t like that, tried to clarify, Even couldn’t believe her, couldn’t _hear_ her. 

It was one of the only arguments he had ever been in—with anyone. He wasn’t good at it, not like Sonja was. He’d left her house for the night and didn’t talk to her again until two days later. 

They talked. A lot. Sometimes it seemed like, when the silences finally ebbed, talking about their relationship was all their relationship actually entailed. 

It was something Even was still getting accustomed to. Sonja showed her love and dedication through words; Even showed his through touch. He expressed emotion with an arm slung over Mikael’s shoulder, resting temple to temple against his mother, squeezing his arms around his father’s slender frame, curling his fingers around Sonja’s hand. 

It was part of the reason why he’d taken the “agreement” so hard. If physical intimacy was his love language, then an open relationship was nothing short of a betrayal of the heart. And this was his first real relationship. Sonja was the first person to whom he wanted to dedicate himself. He had chased and chased after the pretty girl with the smiles since he first saw her at the university’s freshman orientation. It had taken nearly three years to finally catch her, and now it felt like he was losing her. 

But Sonja had talked and persuaded—it was what she was good at, and it was what made her such a brilliant writer—and Even had conceded. It was not an agreement; it was a resignation. If he wanted to keep her, he had to surrender. 

And Sonja was a brilliant tactician. She argued that it would allow him the freedom to engage in physical intimacy while she was gone for nine months. “You would be touch-starved otherwise, and end up resenting us,” she said, as if this was only for his benefit. It would “lessen the stress of long distance.” It would allow them to stay together while not holding either one accountable for “natural urges.” It was a “good thing,” she’d asserted. 

And then she had offered rules so as to lessen the severity of the situation: 1) They couldn’t discuss hookups or one night stands with each other while Sonja was abroad; 2) Even couldn’t fool around or sleep with any of Sonja’s friends; 3) they couldn’t engage in unprotected sex; and 4) they couldn’t form emotional and romantic attachments with the people they had been with. 

Her proposal was so structured that it was difficult for Even to find a counterargument. He was good with words, but she was always better. And she had bested him once more. With great reluctance, he had surrendered—just to make her happy, just to make the talking stop. Just to keep her. 

Even glanced around her naked bedroom, eyes snagging once more on the jaws of her brimming suitcase. The pink lace underwear that he had pulled down her legs after their third date was half-hanging over one corner of the luggage. Even blinked and then looked hard into Sonja’s eyes. “It’s not about the ‘agreement,’” he lied. “I’m just tired.”

Sonja’s face was serious. “An episode?” She brushed her palm over his forehead. 

Even clenched his jaw once, twice, three times. A quick, irritated breath. His throat beat in time with his heart. “No. Nothing like that.”

“Good.” Sonja smiled, softly at first and then brilliantly. Her teeth were white and straight, perfectly square, fit for a Colgate commercial. She had a killer smile. “I love you,” she told him, as she had a hundred times, before going back to packing. She shoved the pink lace farther inside until it was buried deep.

“I love you too.” Even looked away.

* * *

The next few days saw Even as Sonja’s shadow. They were together every minute: clasped by the hands as they ventured into the kitchen for breakfast; pressed from hip to shoulder as they watched a film with her parents; her spine to his chest as they spooned beneath the rising sun; lips to lips as they counted down the days until she left. 

It wasn’t until Wednesday that Even was finally rent from her side. While Sonja went to her grandparents’ house for the day, Even caved to Mikael’s guilt-tripping. Despite his utter lack of will to do _anything_ , Even joined Mikael, Elias, Mutta, and Adam on Adam’s family boat to idle in the fjord. 

“He lives,” Mikael intoned sarcastically when Even appeared at the end of the dock. Though his mind was hyperfocused on the unsettling and constant realization that Sonja would be leaving in three days, he could admit to himself that it seemed like a perfect day for being with his friends. A perfect day to start living what would be the next nine months of his life—a life without Sonja there with him. 

The sky was an arc of electric blue, and it was dotted with cotton clouds. Every now and then the clouds would shift and fragment the golden sun in a burst of a hundred brilliant beams. In the distance, two dozen or so boats rocked in the bay like little toys, each one adorned with a waving flag and dotted with people. 

On either side of the dock, the water lapped against the dark planks of wood, soaking Even’s feet with every step he took. All around him the seagulls hung like puppets in the air, screaming and pecking at one another. The air was heavy with the smell of salt, and the wind whipped gently through his hair. 

“Ev!” Adam shouted when Even reached them, immediately pulling him into a one-armed side hug. “My favorite has finally arrived.”

“Rude,” Mutta muttered before he hip-checked Adam out of the way and wrapped both arms around Even. 

Even couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him. Sometimes, with Sonja and especially lately, it was easy to forget about others. It was easy to devote his time to her because fairly soon she wouldn’t be around. But standing there with his very best friends, Even felt a pure lightness envelop him. As if he was finally able to take a deep, clean breath. He found that the smile stayed on his face, even when Mutta stepped back. 

“So, what’s on the agenda for today, boys?” he asked, genuinely excited now. 

Elias spoke. “Chilling. Eating. Drinking. Music. In no particular order.”

“And we might meet up with some others later at one of the islands,” Mutta added. 

Even nodded, pulling in a deep, salty breath of air. When he exhaled, his smile grew. He pulled his sunglasses off his head and down the bridge off his nose. “Sounds good.”

The day turned out to be the very best of his summer, no matter how much the guilt of that fact tried to stain it. All day his friends had worked to distract him. They ate food prepared by Mama Bakkoush. They drank frozen lime margaritas that Mikael initially turned his nose up at, but eventually drank four glasses full of anyway. They cut the engine and let the boat idle in the gently rocking water, soaking up sun as they each stretched out. When they got too hot, they jumped into the water and let the coolness spread over the heat of their skin. They talked, suspiciously avoiding the topic of Sonja altogether, and listened to old music on the boat’s radio. 

When day turned to afternoon, Adam drove the boat toward the nearest island where they met up with Jonas and his friends. And despite the loveliness of the entire day, something still went still when they turned up at that beach. 

The dying afternoon heat was sticky on Even’s skin. All around him were the shouts and laughs and teasing tones of his friends, settled in a half-moon around a pitiful bonfire. Despite the long day they’d had under the sun, an excited energy still made them feel bright. The knowledge that the end of summer was upon them, and that Sonja was soon to leave, nipped at their heels, so they had done their utmost to distract Even’s mind. 

And it had finally worked. Even’s mind was very much elsewhere.

Everything was gold—the sun, the flames, his skin, his hair. Isak lounged against a jut of pale beachwood, long legs kicked out casually before him. His bow mouth was parted against the end of a joint, angled just right so the swollen sun limned him and his smoke in wispy gold. He wore aqua blue swim trunks that showed off the meat and muscle of his thighs; his chest was bare in an open plaid shirt and his eyes were hidden behind a pair of glossy black Ray-Bans. Even couldn’t stop looking.

Isak was always a specimen to behold. His was a belying beauty: fine, almost feminine bone structure; big green eyes; tumbling wavy hair that curled over his ears and at his nape; rendered in vivid shades of pinks and greens and golds. The power of his beauty was outmatched only by his ignorance. 

He’d met Isak less than a year ago, a couple of months into Even’s junior year. Though “met” wasn’t the right word. _Experienced_ was more like it. 

Even had been sitting with Jonas, a new friend he’d recently met during group work in his Western Civilizations class. The day had been lovely: cold, but not miserably so, with the leaves all crunchy beneath his boots, leaving the trees naked and shivering in the wind. 

They were sitting on a low brick wall, passing a cigarette back and forth, when two boys walked up. One was Elias, a smirking twenty-something whose black eyes seemed to convey, “I’m better than you.” The other was Isak himself. 

Even hadn’t been able to stop staring at the boy with the curly blonde hair and the sharp smile as he approached. Immediately he felt that jolt he always felt at the sight of something he wanted. And even though he was still chasing after Sonja, he was still single. Not taken. 

Even lifted the corners of his mouth and settled his gaze into something more open, more inviting. The boy didn’t notice him at first. He smiled and slapped hands with Jonas, who then went on to introduce the two to Even. 

Isak hadn’t been able to meet his eyes. He spared Even no more than a moment of contact before his gaze swept downward. The move was so sweet, Even could hardly stand it. Elias, on the other hand, hadn’t minded staring boldly at Even, as if in challenge. But when he noticed Even’s interest in Isak, he flicked his eyes between the two with a smirk that stretched too wide. 

When Jonas stepped away to take a phone call, Even should have followed. He should have ignored the burning instinct inside him that forced him to stay still in the hopes that Isak would pay him attention. Then again, he might have never learned what kind of person Isak truly was if he had left. 

It was only a few moments after Jonas stepped away from them, phone to his ear and smile on his face, that it happened. A group of people wielding sunshine smiles and neon flyers. One was caped in a rainbow flag, another in a shirt that bore the words “PRIDE CLUB.” The entire group was spreading across the courtyard, eyes eager. 

A pretty girl with a half-shaved head and glitter dusted along the arches of her cheekbones came over to them. “Hi!” Her voice was as glittery as her skin. “We’re representing the university’s Pride Club.” She passed three flyers to Isak, who reluctantly took them in silence. “We’re having our first meeting Friday night, and we’d love for you all to come. Even if you don’t identify yourself as part of the community, you can come as an ally.”

When no one said anything, she offered, “There’ll be food and drinks there too.” 

The silence continued. Despite her sweet energy, the tension was thick among them. Even turned on his big smile for her, desperate for her to leave—desperate even to leave _with her_ , if only to escape the inexplicable mounting tension rising around them all. The girl smiled back at him gratefully, although it wavered, and waved goodbye before skipping off to another group of people. 

There was more silence in her wake. At least five seconds of it. And then Elias spoke. 

“Well. Looks like the fairy police finally caught you, Isak.” Elias chuckled. “I guess you can always recognize your own kind, huh?”

Even blinked hard. He half-wondered if he had heard Elias correctly, if those acrid words had truly just spilled out of his cruel mouth. But then Isak scoffed—a sharp, mean sound—and Even tuned into him once more. 

Isak’s face was folded in a frown, brows furrowed and mouth tight. And then he spoke the words that had Even walking away without another passing second: “I’m not a fag.”

Even never told anyone what he’d heard that day. He had still been learning to feel comfortable with his own label of pansexual, and had no energy to devote to bigots. Instead, he continued on with his life, continued hanging out with Jonas, who turned out to be open-minded, educated, and kind. The kind of person with a peaceful soul. 

The only problem was Isak. Even never saw Elias again after that day, but Isak always seemed to be around to shadow his best friend. Between classes, after lunch, during parties. And Even despised it. Every instance that he was confronted with Isak’s beauty was another reminder that even the prettiest of apples could be rotten within. 

Over time, Isak stopped trying to smile at Even. And eventually, Even learned that simply ignoring Isak’s presence was a fairly successful tactic, if not mildly awkward. And though he’d caught Jonas’ questioning stare a time or two, their friendship was able to thrive until, eventually, their two friend groups merged and he gained many more wonderful people in his life. For that, he could pay the price of Isak’s presence—even if he didn’t understand Jonas’ tolerance of him. 

A sharp blow to his left ear brought Even back down to earth. The saggy beach ball Magnus had apparently insisted on bringing bounced away twice before rolling pitifully across their circle. 

“Dude, Even, I’m so sorry. I just lost control of it!” Magnus looked genuinely remorseful. His fingers danced anxiously against the cheap shell necklace he was wearing. It was difficult to be mad at Magnus, with his kind face and dorky charisma. Even had always had a soft spot for him. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Isak pushing his sunglasses up. Even’s skin began to itch. He focused his gaze on Magnus and waved him off. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

Mikael cut in. “Even’s skull is too thick to sustain damage anyway.” Even raised his middle finger high. 

“Hey, be nice to Ev,” Adam cut in, always the hero. “He’s probably thinking about Sonja.” 

For the first time all day, it was dead quiet. No laughter, no chatter. Even the fire seemed to crackle quieter. Even could sense an immediate pity among the group and he hated it. It climbed over his shoulders like rocks and threatened to drown him. 

“Oh, yeah.” Magnus’ tone was thoughtful. “She broke up with you, right?”

Isak shifted against the log, his abs clenching. Even could feel the stares around him. “No, we didn’t break up.”

“But the guys said—”

“Dude,” Jonas cut in, shaking his head sharply. 

The warning served only to confuse Magnus more. “What? You guys said she wanted to be with other people.”

Even had wanted to keep this thing between Sonja and him a secret. He was ashamed of it—ashamed that his girlfriend wanted to touch other people for the sake of freedom. What would he look like to others if they knew? Apparently he looked pitiable, judging by almost everyone’s faces. 

Even cleared his throat—for time, for strength. Isak was staring at him when he spoke. “Sonja and I are still together. But she did suggest an open relationship while she’s in L.A.”

“The fuck?” Mahdi leaned forward in disbelief. 

“Yep.” Even nodded, sinking his teeth into the plush of his bottom lip. His cheeks were growing hot. 

“She’s probably just trying to be progressive,” Jonas tried. He shrugged, trying for nonchalance. “I doubt she actually wants anyone else.”

“So you’re just free to be with other people, and that’s that?” Mahdi asked. 

Even nodded again, stuck on his own word vomit that he longed to spew out. He wanted to bitch, to whine, to rage, but he couldn’t stand the pity it would cost to do so. 

There was a long moment of silence. 

“I can be your wingman,” Magnus offered seriously. 

His face was so earnest that Even couldn’t help the smile spreading across his face. “I’m alright, Mags. I’m not going to hook up with someone else.” 

The tension was back with a vengeance. The unspoken thought, _Even if she does_ , hung in the air for everyone to see. Even rolled his shoulders back as if to shrug it away but the tightness in his spine, in his shoulder blades remained. He sat straight as a steel rod, poised in discomfort. Even could have kissed Magnus when he finally changed the subject. 

“Isak’s got a new boyfriend.”

Even’s heart did a little jump. Isak scowled as Jonas snickered and reached out to playfully shake Isak at the shoulder. Even just stared, waiting for the moment some ignorant remark spilled out of Isak’s mouth in his haste to distance himself from anything gay. This time Even didn’t think he could ignore it. 

“You’re such a dick,” Isak grumbled. He’d finished the blunt, but his fingers played over the place in the dirt where he’d killed it. 

Magnus laughed in delight. “Am I wrong though?”

“Yes,” Isak said, rolling his eyes. “Aleksander is a friend. He is not my boyfriend.”

“Not for his lack of trying,” Jonas added.

“Plus,” Mahdi cut in, “‘new boyfriend’ implies there was an old one. Which there isn’t, because Isak has zero game.”

“Fuck you, I have game.”

There was a collective chorus of laughter around the fire, but Even was lost—left out. It was as if someone had pulled a veil from his eyes and showed him that the sea was red and the sky green. What he was hearing didn’t make sense, and yet everyone around him acted as if it did. He kept waiting for Isak to show his true colors, to shed his lambskin. But the moment never came. 

“Then how come we never see you hook up with any dudes?” Magnus asked. 

For just a second, Isak’s eyes found Even’s, and a thrill ran through Even’s chest. Isak looked away just as quickly as he had found contact, and raised a brow in Magnus’ direction. 

“Why are you so keen on _watching_ me hook up? Believe me, Mags, you are _not_ my type.”

A chorus of _ooh_ s followed Isak’s words, and even Magnus seemed to smile at the jab. All around him Even’s friends were laughing, joking, reaching out to pat Isak’s shoulder and fist bump him in congratulation. Eventually the conversation moved on, and after that, they began a pathetic game of volleyball, taunting each other over a makeshift net of Magnus’ cat beach towel. 

But Even stayed where he was, lost and lost and lost. 

His mind was still adrift hours later when he and Mikael had made their way back to their shared apartment. 

The day had been long and hot, so both boys had stayed quiet. But Even was quiet for a different reason. He couldn’t get that split second of eye contact between Isak and himself out of his mind. Couldn’t stop playing the words “I’m not a fag” over this new development. Even felt like everyone was in on a joke that he himself was the butt of. 

He followed Mikael into the mailroom where Mikael gathered up their mail, and then up two flights of stairs and into their kitchen where Mikael threw the pile on their table. Even lingered in the doorway, then moved to lean against the stove. When that was too uncomfortable, he moved to straddle one of their mismatched chairs, folding his hands atop its back and resting his chin on his hands. 

It took him a moment to gather his courage for the conversation he wanted to initiate. 

“So, Isak,” Even started, apropos of nothing. “He’s gay…”

Mikael nodded, not looking up from where he was shuffling through the junk mail splashed across their tabletop. “It seems that way.”

Even tried again. “Don’t you find it strange?”

Mikael huffed. “Homophobia is not a good look on you, Ev,” he deadpanned. 

Even rolled his eyes. “Fuck off. You know that’s not how I meant it. I just…” He sighed in irritation. “Since _when_?”

Mikael finally looked up, snorting. “That question? Not doing you any favors.” 

“Mik, I’m serious. Since when is Isak ‘Dudebro’ Valtersen—the very Isak who squirms when a guy wears eyeliner and flinches at the mention of cock—an out and proud gay man?”

 _That_ , at least, gave Mikael pause. His eyes took on a distant look. He was quiet for several long moments, considering what Even had said—or rather, ranted. He sunk his teeth into his lip and chewed thoughtfully. When he finally spoke, his tone was serious, grave almost. 

“Who said he was proud?”

Even frowned. “What do you mean?”

Mikael continued. “Maybe he squirms and flinches because he’s not proud. Maybe he’s uncomfortable because he’s just that: _uncomfortable_.”

Even was frozen. He hadn’t considered that possibility, that Isak was not a proud person. When he looked at Isak, he saw a boy who wore his skin and soul with certainty. He was arrogant, sharp, and quick. He never seemed shy or unsure. 

For a second time that day, Even felt lost. He sat at his kitchen table completely silent, running back through every scenario in which he had been around Isak. At school, parties, restaurants. He thought on the time a nice guy named Hans had hit on him at some random party while Isak and Jonas watched on. Even had turned Hans down, but Isak had frowned—almost in concentration—the entire time before he disappeared elsewhere. 

Even couldn’t wrap his head around it. Isak was gay. Of course, there was no reason for Even to be invested in this newfound knowledge. It shouldn’t have mattered to him. It didn’t involve him at all. 

He went to his room and pulled out his laptop. Quicker than he was proud of, he had Isak’s Instagram pulled up. Even wasn’t friends with him, but Isak’s profile was public, so he scrolled through his pictures, staying mindful of the captions and the dates. 

The process was less than satisfying. Nothing about Isak’s profile told him anything substantial about Isak the person. There was no “coming out” post, no caption brightened with the rainbow flag. He posted ancient memes and inside jokes that Even wasn’t privy to. Isak’s profile was a puzzle with pieces missing, impossible to finish. 

Even clicked on his latest post. It was uploaded today. It must have been before Even and the boys met up with the others at the beach. Isak stood dead center with Jonas and Mahdi on either side of him, interweaved with their arms around each other. Magnus was visible only by the eyes that peeked over Isak’s shoulder and the peace sign he held over Jonas’ curls. 

It was a silly picture. It was a pretty picture. The midday day sun was an explosion of gold behind Isak. He looked exactly the same as he had at the beach, yet somehow completely different. Perhaps it was in the way his smile was more relaxed. Or the way he pulled his friends in close. 

Even’s phone ringing nearly took him out of his skin. He knew who it was instantly. He’d set Sonja’s ringtone as some pretty classic melody by a French composer. Typically, the sound was soothing. But right now, it frustrated him. He wanted to stop feeling lost—he wanted to figure Isak out through his profile. 

But the phone kept ringing while he stared and stared and stared at Isak’s smile. Eventually the phone stopped. It started again a minute later. Isak still grinned at him through his laptop screen while the phone played a lovely melody. 

Even took a deep breath, looking, looking, looking. He finally grabbed his phone and blindly pressed _Accept._

Even looked away.


	2. Sweeter Than My Solitude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that this is two days later than promised. I underestimated how long this chapter would turn out to be. And at nearly 8,500 words, it's a monster. But I hope you all like it!

“Please.”

“No.”

“Pretty please.”

“No again.”

“What about with a cherry on top?” Mikael had nearly reached the end of his admittedly low patience, his voice high and whiny like it always got when he didn’t get his way. 

The tram car swayed and Even gripped the pole tighter. “I don’t even like cherries.”

Mikael huffed, finally agitated. He faced Even with a look that spoke volumes of his desperate frustration, but it was hard to take him seriously when he was probably only a moment away from stamping his foot like a bratty toddler. 

“ _Please_ , Ev. It would make me so happy.”

The tram was slowing near their stop. The blurry windows began to solidify into a pretty picture that was pieced together by brick buildings, fluffy green trees, iron gatework, and glass façades. The sky was a smear of pale, pale blue. 

“I don’t see how my not going affects your happiness.” Even hoisted his backpack higher up his shoulder, pulling his sweater sleeves down over his knuckles. 

The tram jerked to a stop and the doors sighed open. Even stepped off first, Mikael right on his heels. 

He was so close that his voice seemed to buzz against Even’s ear. “Because you’re my best friend. Duh. C’mon, please.” 

“You know how much I love it when you beg,” Even said sarcastically over his shoulder, “but _no_.”

“Well, why not?”

Rather than answer him, Even took a deep breath of cool August air. Early sunshine peeked shyly over the metallic grey roofs of the nearby buildings, casting warm shafts of champagne light across the ground. The morning glowed pale yellow and doused the university campus in buttery shades. He felt as if he could almost dip himself in it, feel it flow down his skin like silk.

For the first time in three weeks—since Sonja had left—Even felt like happiness was right in his reach. 

And he tried so hard to linger in that contentment, to make it stretch into something more lasting, but Mikael was making it difficult. He’d been on Even like a shadow since that morning, when they both stumbled into their little kitchen, the sky still dark and spotted with silver starlight. 

He suggested the idea over twin bowls of soggy cereal. He followed Even as he went to his bedroom to change and then again as he went to the bathroom to brush his teeth and fix his hair. He continued on the chilly walk to the tram station. And he’d insisted the whole ride to campus. He’d never been one to take Even’s rejections lightly. 

“Why would I want to go to a club?” Even asked for the tenth time that morning, weaving right and left through the students that lingered in the mouth of the campus’ front entrance. Up ahead he spotted Jonas and Magnus leaning against the brick wall of the campus safe, where they had all decided to meet on Wednesday mornings before class. Both boys looked half-dead, clutching steaming paper cups of coffee. 

“For fun, you idiot,” Mikael was saying. He slung an arm tight around Even’s shoulders, pulling him in—for closeness, but also probably so Even couldn’t get away. “Look, I may not be able to make this whole…situation okay, but I can help you have fun. It’s my job as your best friend. And this club will be _fun_ ; I promise on Lars von Trier.”

“Who’s going to a club?” These were the first words out of Magnus’ mouth as they approached. Where before he seemed half a corpse, now his blue eyes were alive and dancing. There was a new energy to him, one that was not unlike that of a golden retriever. 

“We all are.” Mikael grinned. “Tomorrow night. It’s that new club that opened this summer, XOXO.”

“Oh fuck yeah!” Magnus shouted, pumping one arm in the air _Breakfast Club_ -style. His coffee splashed over the flimsy rim of his cup and sprayed the sleeve of his white sweater brown. “Boys night.”

Jonas nodded like some sage wizard. “I’m down.”

Mikael rounded on Even, every bit the drama queen. His smile had wilted into a scowl. “See, Ev? That’s what fun people look like.”

“What’s happening?” Magnus asked. 

“This Negative Nancy says he won’t go tomorrow night,” Mikael explained. 

“Wait, why not?” Jonas wondered. 

Even shrugged, suddenly self-conscious. He felt as if someone had turned up the brightness to 100 so he was see-through. He pulled his sleeves tighter over his knuckles. “I don’t know. I don’t see the point.”

“Dude, what do you mean? We could have so much fun!” Magnus began to wave his arms passionately. 

Mikael held his hand out in Magnus’ direction, as if to say, _Exactly my point_. He and Even shared a look—the loaded type that only came from years and years of best friendship. The type that said all that it needed to without words. 

In their twelve years of friendship, Mikael had always been a tenacious person. His determination was even admirable, but so far that morning he had proven relentless, almost unbearably so. However, despite the slight annoyance that determination caused him, Even understood what Mikael’s insistence was really about, even if neither of them acknowledged it. 

Sonja had been living in Los Angeles for three weeks now, and she was loving every moment of it. Their brief conversations were about all the sights she saw and friends she made. Her Instagram page was filled with photos of her life there thus far: spiky green palm trees heavy with coconuts; an endless blue horizon underlined by a sandy beach; Sonja’s smile framed by a purple sunset; the burning sun erupting through her rental’s kitchen window. Every so often she would post a picture of herself and the other interns at the office: them at the printers, in their cubicles, out to lunch. 

Yesterday had been a little different. Los Angeles was nine hours behind Oslo, so they lived their lives at opposite sides of the day. 

The picture had been posted at 11 in the morning Oslo time. It was clear to Even that everyone in the photo, including the photographer, was wasted out of their minds. The picture was soft, its sharp lines blurred. A small group of girls and guys huddled together in a backyard lit by fairy lights. Sonja was in the center, looking radiant in a tiny blue dress that brought out the bronze of her tan. Her blonde hair had turned nearly platinum after so many days in the West Coast sunshine, and her smile was still one of the prettiest things he’d ever seen. 

The lips pressed to her cheek and the large arms wrapped possessively around her waist made Even’s stomach turn to acid. It wasn’t necessarily a condemning pose, but neither was it completely innocent of implication. The guy was Sonja’s height exactly, his hair dark in the moonlight. He was tan, well-muscled, and heavily tattooed, visually different from Even in every imaginable way. And he had his lips on Even’s girlfriend. It was only her cheek, but the sadness and jealousy in his heart didn’t particularly care about circumstance. 

And yet, Even couldn’t help but question if he actually had any _right_ to those feelings. He wondered if this was only his bipolar intensifying what was only a stressful situation. Sonja said that sometimes he had a tendency to overreact to things, to allow his emotions to rule him. And perhaps this was one of those times.

After all, had he not agreed to her proposal of an open relationship? Had he not been given the chance to reject the “agreement”? He had taken Sonja to the airport knowing full well that it was more than likely that, when she finally came back in nine months, someone else would have touched her, kissed her, held her. 

But there was something different about seeing the evidence for himself—or even the mere suggestion of it—than simply knowing it was a possibility. So now, Even was stuck in a hurricane of jealousy, insecurity, sadness, and anger, all the while trying his hardest to remain, at the very least, content. And Mikael was just trying to help make him happy, as he always did; Even _knew_ that. 

“Come on,” Magnus was saying, bordering on pleading now. He’d adopted the same pout that Mikael had been sporting on and off all morning. “We’ll pregame at my house. And then we can get drunk and dance all night. And you can help me wingman for Jonas!” 

Jonas rolled his eyes and shook his head, but didn’t say anything. 

Even spared them both a small, entertained smile. Magnus’ enthusiasm was a little contagious. But still… “I don’t know. I’m not much of a club rat.”

Mikael huffed, having heard Even’s rejections all morning long, and Magnus was frowning, but it was Jonas’ reaction that Even focused on. Jonas, who was looking back at him as if in serious consideration. They stared at each other for a few long moments before Jonas spoke in that calm, wise tone of his.

“Maybe it’s finally time for something new.” He searched Even’s eyes, offering him a tilted smile. The smile said, _I understand_ , and Even appreciated it more than he could ever express.

And, as always seemed to be the case when Jonas decided to impart his specific brand of simple wisdom, Even relented. He took in Jonas’ suggestion—really took it in amidst all the sadness and insecurity of the past few weeks—and began nodding. “Yeah. Maybe you’re right.” 

Magnus whooped in victory. “Hell yeah! Boys night!”

Mikael pulled Even into a side hug; it was warm and familiar. “I’ll ignore the fact that you didn’t listen to your best friend, while I _begged_ I might add, and just be happy that you finally agreed to go.”

Even snorted. As much as Mikael annoyed him like a brother, he was still that: a brother, a best friend, and a confidant, all in one. “Your generosity is noted, Mik. Can we go get coffee now? I’m dying.”

“After you.”

The rest of the day creeped by syrup-slow. Wednesdays were his busiest days of the semester, the days he had to be on campus all day, from early morning to late afternoon. So after he sat and talked with the boys over coffee in that cafe, he went to his filmmaking lecture. Immediately after he met with his advisor to discuss his senior project, and then he waited around for his afternoon class. 

Even though he was a media major, his degree required a certain number of humanities electives, so he’d opted for a blended literature and film course that focused on the Gothic movement. It was only the second week of class, but Even had grown to love it. They discussed the romance, terror, and opulence of Gothic art, literature, and films, all the while supplementing those discussions with art pieces, film clips, and stories and novels. It was Even’s dream. 

There was only one problem: Isak. 

The first day of class, Even had walked in right on time. He didn’t notice Isak until it was too late. The boy in question had been slumped over his desk in the very back, following Even with his eyes until he was caught. He’d swept his eyes down in a move so similar to the first time Even met him that Even nearly stopped short. And even when he had taken a seat at the other end of the room, Even had spent the entire class half-focused on trying not to look at the boy in the back corner. 

The thing was, Even was still trying to come to terms with this new version of Isak in his mind. Of course, Isak didn’t look any different or act any different, but Even couldn’t help but think of him as two different people: the Isak before and the Isak after. Where before Even had disliked Isak for what he assumed was a mean homophobic streak, now he was unsure of how to feel about him. Isak could no longer be defined; he was a grey area.

Admittedly, it had turned into a mild fixation, as Even flipped through every memory he had of Isak like a picture book. It didn’t matter that it had been weeks since he’d learned about Isak’s sexuality, nor did it matter that he hadn’t actually spoken to Isak or vice versa. It was the way his brain worked. It was the way he worked things out in his mind—by analyzing them every which way until they had worn smooth. Some people called it obsessive; he just saw it as thorough. 

Even arrived to class fifteen minutes early that day, finding an empty seat in the empty middle row. He let his backpack wilt to the ground and pulled out his green leather sketchbook. He flipped open to a new page, smoothing his hand over it. He told himself that he _wanted_ to draw, but in reality he just wanted to keep himself from eagerly seeking out Isak’s eventual entrance.

Despite both his hands and his eyes being occupied, Even still noticed when Isak arrived, and he hated himself for it. Isak wore a blue Superman snapback, grey Vans splashed with mud, old skinny jeans, and a threadbare white t-shirt that gaped around his collarbones. And the outfit _shouldn’t have_ complemented Isak as well as it did, because it was nothing special. But it did. It really, really did. 

Even’s pencil slipped from his fingers, rolling across the page. He kept his eyes glued to his desk, but he tracked Isak in his peripheral vision as he ghosted silently through the room, all the way to the back right corner where he carelessly tossed his backpack on the desk with a muted thump. He half-fell into his seat a moment later and pulled out his phone. 

Even told himself that he was only paying attention because he needed to figure Isak out and not because he was shamefully fascinated.

It wasn’t until the professor walked into the room a few minutes later that Even was finally released from Isak’s gravity. He forced himself to listen to her lecture, to ignore the back corner of the room, and soon enough he was able to lose himself in talks of monsters, horror, and love. 

Toward the end of class, the professor grabbed a stack of papers from her bag. “I’m going to pass around sheets now for your final projects,” she said, handing them to a girl in the front row. “This project will be done in partners, which you can choose yourself. Right now, I’d like for you to choose your partners, write both of your names down on the sheet, and then pick a story from the Gothic genre that you’d like to work on.”

While the papers were being passed back, Even scanned the room. Aside from Isak, he was unfamiliar with his classmates. There was the mousy girl to his left that had smiled at him on the first day of class, but she was already talking to the girl in front of her. There was a guy up front that didn’t seem to be talking to nor looking at anyone else, but Even had seen him sleep at least once every class so far and he didn’t feel like bearing the brunt of responsibility. 

An idea flashed in his mind—one that, only a few weeks ago, would have been completely out of the question. And yet, would this not be the perfect opportunity to intimately grapple with the one problem, aside from Sonja, that had plagued Even’s brain? 

When the sheets were finally passed to him, he turned to the back corner. As soon as he turned, Isak’s eyes dropped to the table, lifting only slightly to check if Even had caught him. Even tried hard not to be endeared, to remain neutral. He cast one last look around the class, which was buzzing with excitement as students paired up. Even stood from his desk and went to Isak. 

Even sank into the desk next to Isak, staring at him until he finally looked back. It was almost painful to ask, “Do you want to work together?”

Isak’s eyes were green bottle glass. His pink lips parted in surprise. He clearly wasn’t expecting Even to ask to be partners. And why would he, when Even had been nothing but indifferent—cold even, sometimes—to him.

“Um. Yeah, sure. Yes. That sounds good.”

There was a part of Even—some part that lived deep inside him—that went weak at hearing Isak speak to him in that husky voice of his. Isak hadn’t spoken directly to Even in months.

Even tried on a small, polite smile for him, feeling disjointed, and handed Isak the last sheet. 

He ignored Isak’s staring by writing both of their names on his own sheet, spending longer than necessary looping the letters together. Only when he was done did he look back, which seemed to startle Isak into action.

While Isak scribbled their names messily across his paper, Even asked, “What story do you want to do?”

Isak shrugged, then fiddled with his snapback. “I’m not sure. I’m a—” He coughed softly into his fist. “I’m a biology major. I don’t really know much about literature.” He waited a moment, glancing up for half a second. “Um, what about you?”

Even looked down at his paper, trying to appear as if he was thinking when really his skin was itching like he couldn’t fit it. Just a few weeks ago, he still strongly disliked Isak and would avoid him if given the chance. And now, here he was, sitting beside him in class, willingly planning to do his final project with him. It made Even uneasy, confused, and excited all at once. And it certainly didn’t help that Isak’s hair was curling out from under his hat like some Raphael cherub. 

Finally, after too long, Even answered. “We could do _The Picture of Dorian Gray_. It’s got a little bit of everything.”

“Like what?” Isak dared to look at Even for a few moments, green eyes cutting sideways. Even thought that he finally understood what Oscar Wilde meant when he said that someone could be made of ivory and rose leaves.

He pursed his lips to mask the way his thoughts were surely leaking all over the place. “Art, beauty, corruption. Homosexuality.”

At the last two words, Isak’s eyes went straight down and his cheeks bloomed a lovely pink. Even suddenly felt a little mean. He may have acted indifferent or cold to Isak before, but he’d never been _cutting_. Shame filled him to the brim. 

“Oh,” Isak said quietly.

But before Even could say anything else, the professor clapped her hands. “Alright, I trust everyone has picked their partners. If you didn’t, come talk to me after class. Before you all leave, I’ll need one sheet from each group so I can have your names and stories down. You can keep the second sheet for yourselves. I’ll see you all next week.”

Even was still too ashamed at his mean jab to look directly at Isak again. So instead he asked, “ _Dorian Gray_ then?” Isak nodded silently in his periphery. “Okay. I’ll turn this one in then.” 

He scribbled down the title and took the sheet up front before turning back to get his backpack. Isak was messily wrestling their project paper and his flimsy notebook into his own. 

“Uh,” Even said. Isak looked up, pretty eyes saucer-wide. “Later.” He nodded once and turned away before he could hear Isak’s reply or see his expression. And even though he didn’t look back, he still carried the feeling of Isak’s bottle green eyes on him all evening long.

* * *

On Thursday, Even stayed in bed all day, watching his bedroom brighten and fade as the day passed on. Under the fluffy shelter of his comforter, he read for his classes, watched some obscure German film, drew in his sketchbook, napped, and briefly texted with Sonja about her morning.

It wasn’t until darkness had fallen like a velvet blanket over Oslo that Even climbed out of his haven. He turned on the shower, cranking the heat up so that the room slowly became hazy with a veil of pale steam. When he stepped into the shower, the water was hot against his skin, roasting him pink. Even rested his temple against the cold shower wall and closed his eyes. 

His fingers danced across the tight skin of his hip bone, pushing down, down, down. He lingered in the contentment of the hot shower. He urged on the touch of skin on skin, felt the slick ridges of his palm over the downy trail of hair below his belly button. He gave in to the thrill that squirmed around in his stomach the farther down he went, sighing when the soft of his fingertips finally made purchase with the hardness between his legs. 

He tried to think about Sonja. About the curves that drew her body the last time he saw her naked in bed. The way her nails raked down his back when he did something right. But as he pictured himself between her legs, slowly his blonde hair shifted darker—black, brown perhaps. His shoulders grew wider, his muscles tighter, skin darker, and all of a sudden, it wasn’t him anymore, but that stranger. 

Even stilled and clenched his eyes. “Fuck.” 

He groaned into the silence of the room, wanting to chase after the honey-glazed satisfaction that had engulfed him before. He stroked experimentally once, twice, but it seemed as if he had fully shattered the daydream. Gone was the warm contentment; in its place was the sour insecurity that, each day, he prayed would leave for good. He hated this feeling—that he wasn’t good enough, that there was someone better, that Sonja wanted others. 

Even quickly got out of the shower. He found himself frowning as he dried himself off; as he pulled on dark jeans and buttoned up a black and white-striped shirt; as he combed his hair back off his face; as he pulled the half-empty vodka bottle out of their kitchen cabinet; as he splashed it into a shot glass and threw it back in one go. As the sharp taste exploded on his tongue and burned down his throat, Even’s frown grew even deeper. 

He hated the way it made him feel. Not the vodka, but the frown. He was a happy person. His mother used to call him her April boy because his smile was sunshine and spring. These days, it felt like all he did was frown. And April was nowhere to be found. 

That’s how Mikael found him when he pushed through their apartment door a quarter after 8 p.m. His dark eyes took in the scene with confusion: the wide open cabinet, the shine of the vodka splatter that had missed the glass, Even’s face contorted in a grimace. 

“Hey, Ev,” he said slowly, dropping his bag. He toed off his shoes. “Did you start without me?”

Even nodded. “I’m not going into this sober.”

“Okay.” Mikael looked wary. 

“Relax,” Even said, feeling guilty for making Mikael look that way. “I’m fine. I’m just…” He took a moment and went for utter honesty. “I’m just tired of being sad. I want to be happy again.”

Mikael gave him a fond smile, one that stretched across his entire face. “I get that. And that’s a good place to start.” He went to the cabinet and pulled another shot glass down. “And while I wouldn’t usually promote finding some happiness at the bottom of a vodka bottle, I think we can break that rule tonight. What do you say?”

Even’s chuckle was faint and mostly humorless, but it was there nonetheless. “I think you’re right.”

Mikael’s face stretched into a pleased grin, white teeth gleaming brilliantly. “That’s the spirit! Pour me one.”

When they finally left for Magnus’ house an hour later, they’d both taken two shots each. The combination of the shots and Mikael’s presence had hit Even hard—in the best possible way. Gone was the insecurity that had furrowed his brow for the past few weeks; gone was the sadness that seemed to hold him down like a bag of bricks; gone was the anger that made him want to jump out of his own skin; gone was the jealousy that had transformed him into someone he did not like. 

In their place was the old Even. The Even that smiled, laughed, joked, touched—the person he had missed being. He had not been _that_ Even in what felt like months. He stood tall, he smiled at random passersby as he and Mikael walked to the tram station, he laughed at the inside jokes they traded on the tram. 

By the time they finally made it to Magnus’ house, Even’s face was flushed and his heart was light. His stomach was warm with a buzz that had spread like syrup throughout his entire body, making him shed the stiffness he’d carried around for days. He accepted Magnus’ hug with equal vigor as he invited them into his house, slapping hands with the rest of the boys who lounged on the couch and the extra seats shoved into the living room. 

He noticed at once that Isak wasn’t there, and there was a part of him—and not a small part either—that was disappointed. It wasn’t enough to sour his buzz, but it was enough that Even’s attention was partially distracted when Mutta pulled him down into the loveseat. 

“How’s my favorite Ev?”

Even chuckled, but before he could say anything, Adam piped up from across the room. “Hey! There’s that famous Bech Næsheim smile!”

“That,” Mikael pointed out, “is the result of best friends and vodka. And it’s time to keep the party going.” In his hands were two drinks; both were thick, green, and very questionable. “One for you.” He handed a sweating glass to Even. 

“What the hell are those?” Mahdi asked. 

“White Russians,” Mikael answered. “Sort of.”

“Why are they green?” Jonas asked. His dark brows slanted together in equal parts confusion and disgust. 

“I used some food coloring from one of the cabinets.” Mikael sat primly on the arm of the loveseat that Even and Mutta occupied. “Look, I want to be the next Coppola, not Gordon Ramsay. Give me a break.”

Everyone watched as Even took an experimental sip. Had he not already taken two shots, he would have grimaced. But he schooled his face for Mikael, who was doing his best to make Even’s night fun and not heavy with the knowledge of his fucked up relationship. “Not bad.”

Mikael made a triumphant noise. “Knew it.”

“Is Yousef coming tonight?” Even found himself asking. Yousef had been suspiciously absent from their group hangouts lately, and Even suspected that it was because of Sana.

Elias let out a long, dramatic sigh. “He said he couldn’t. He’s ‘studying.’”

“Studying.” Mikael snorted. “Is that code for Sana won’t let him?”

Elias shook his head. “Hell if I know. Sana’s scary when she wants to be.”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Adam cut in impatiently. “Enough talk about the homebodies. When are we leaving for the club? I don’t want to get too drunk before we go. I’ve got some dance moves that require a certain level of sobriety in order to be performed.”

Even laughed, lighthearted and delighted. He took an obligatory sip of his drink. “Like what?”

“Super secret, my friend. They can only be witnessed on the dance floor.” Adam took a deep drink of his beer and winked. 

Jonas was checking his phone. “We’re just waiting for Isak to get here. He had lab until 9, but he said he’ll be here soon.”

It wasn’t until 9:45 that Isak finally arrived, pushing through the door with a half-empty six-pack and an open bottle in his right hand. He wore black jeans, a deep green button-up, and a warm pink blush over his golden skin. He looked unbearably hot and Even was drunk enough that he didn’t care if he was staring. 

“Ayy!” Magnus shouted, drunk and clumsy. He stood from his seat and proceeded to trip over the rug in his haste to wrap Isak in a hug. 

“Took you long enough, bro,” Elias added from his lazy lounge on the couch. 

“First of all, I was in lab for three hours. And you should know that because Sana was there too.” Isak shrugged a needy Magnus off him and collapsed into the chair that sat directly across from Even. “Secondly, I had to walk all the way here because I forgot my fucking wallet in the lab, so I couldn’t take the tram or a cab.” Isak’s eyes finally found Even’s across the room, wide and difficult to read. A pulse of something foreign shot straight through him. 

Even found himself wondering on what territory they found themselves now. They weren’t friends, but Even no longer actively disliked Isak. He wasn’t sure what he thought of Isak, aside from him being attractive. And the attraction, it seemed, was made ten times worse from the hot buzz melting through his veins. It also didn’t help that he got horny when he was drunk, and he had failed at jerking off in the shower earlier, so there was this dormant lust coming to life inside him that had nowhere to go. 

“How the hell are you gonna get into the club without your ID?” Mahdi asked. 

“Eskild’s working tonight. He’ll get me in.”

“ _Eskild_ ,” Magnus sang seriously. 

Isak rolled his eyes, then drained the open beer bottle in his hand. His throat worked in a way that made Even’s skin prickle. When he was done, he wiped his chin with the back of his hand, but his lips were still wet and shiny. Even was half-entranced. 

“Can we go now?” Adam whined. He rolled his upper body like a wave and ended in a sad robot move. “The ladies aren’t gonna wait around all night for these moves.”

Mikael was laughing as he stood from the chair. “I don’t think the ladies are gonna wait at all, man.”

There were more indignant shouts and teasing remarks traded as everyone finished their drinks and got ready to leave. The brisk night air felt good on Even’s skin as they walked in a mass to the club. He lingered in the back with Mutta, only half-listening to him talk because Isak was up ahead, and his broad shoulders, tight jeans, and lazy, almost arrogant gait were wildly distracting. 

It was a 30-minute journey to get the club: fifteen minutes for the walk itself, ten to wrangle Magnus, who’d gotten significantly wilder after sneaking two more beers inside his coat, and then the last five to actually find the place. 

The club, XOXO, was accessible only through a dark, seedy alleyway that reeked of piss and garbage. However, it eventually opened up into a brick-encased courtyard that was big enough to house the small infantry of smokers billowing grey clouds into the air and the line of people that were spit out by the open double doors. 

Even thought that they would wait in line with the fifty or so other people braving the chill for a night of drinking and dancing. But then he heard a chipper, “Baby Jesus!” 

A man with buzzed red hair seemed to appear out of thin air, like some fairy godmother. He wore a semi-transparent floral shirt that looked expensive, dark trousers, and cherry red patent leather boots. The arches of his high brows glittered pink under the warm yellow light in the courtyard and his lashes were thick with mascara. 

He pulled Isak into what looked like an unwilling hug, and kept both arms around him even when the hug was done. The man rested his head atop Isak’s while Isak frowned slightly. 

“You stink,” Isak complained, trying to pull away. 

The man scoffed and flicked Isak against the forehead. “This is Gucci, baby gay. Get ahold of yourself.” He finally turned to the others. “He’s just used to his bedroom that he never leaves. Which, by the way, stinks of boy farts.”

Isak’s scowl went deeper. He looked over at Even, down again, and then back at the man. “It does not.”

The man ignored him. “Well, I know these three already.” He pointed at Jonas, Magnus, and Mahdi. “But I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting you five. Isak, don’t be rude. I raised you better than that. Introduce me.”

Isak’s eyes nearly rolled back into his head, but he did what he was told. “Eskild, this is Mutta, Adam, Elias, Mikael, and Even.” Even was drunk enough that he could admit to himself that he liked the lazy way Isak said his name, the way his tongue hit the roof of his mouth at the _n_. 

The man—Eskild—looked at them all, but looked at Even the longest. It was only a fraction longer than the others, but Even was able to catch it. There was something in Eskild’s eyes that turned intrigued, excited almost. Even could only smile back helplessly, not understanding what Eskild’s eyes were trying to say. 

“So nice to see that my baby gay is making friends.” He ruffled his hand through Isak’s golden curls. “Well, come on then. The night isn’t getting any younger and neither am I.”

Eskild kept an arm around Isak as he led them all past the long line of waiting people and toward a black door set off to the side. He used a key to twist it open and pulled Isak inside, ushering the rest of them along. They walked through a short, dark, musty hallway and came to stop at another black door. Behind it was the muffled thump of strong bass and the even stronger stench of alcohol. When Eskild opened it, the world exploded into color and sound. 

The club was pulsing black and blue. It smelled like heat, liquor, bodies, and smoke. Beyond the surging sea of people dancing, Even could see that the main floor was shaped like a bullseye, marked dead center by an expansive bar area underlit by glowing neon lights. Behind the bar, the bartenders wore white shirts and whiter smiles that seemed to glow like stars in the darkness. 

At each corner of the room was a massive strobe light that blazed half a dozen different colors, throwing neon rays everywhere. Above the bar, the heavy disco ball caught the lights and fragmented them across the black walls like some showy aurora. 

Even felt as if he had been transported into some acid fairy fever dream, one that was built out of neon and black velvet, splices of light and dark. 

As they walked farther in, he could only see in split seconds. One second the place was plunged into total darkness, the next it was beaming in technicolor. And he was drunk enough to be absolutely mesmerized by it all.

The glitter on Eskild’s face danced under the neon disco lights. “I’ve got to go work the floor now. Give them my name at the bar if you want drinks.” He gave Isak a mock stern face. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” He disappeared into the crowd before Isak could fully roll his eyes.

“You heard the man,” Jonas said, pushing forward to the bar. Isak turned, his golden curls tinted pink, green, blue. He looked like a siren.

“I’m going to dance,” Adam yelled above the booming music. Mahdi, Mutta, and Elias followed him into the thick of the sea. 

Mikael leaned over until he was in Even’s ear. “Bar?” Even nodded and followed the siren that called him. 

They ordered shots at the bar that burned like sugar and sweet lemons down the back of his throat, pooling molten hot in his belly. Even was getting very drunk. Much drunker than he’d been in a very, very long time. He’d nearly forgotten how good it could feel. Warm stomach, swirling head, no inhibitions. His body felt loose and he ached for someone to touch. 

He didn’t know if it was the lights or the alcohol—or maybe even Isak, who was sneaking looks at Even like he had nowhere else to look—but Even felt absolutely, completely bewitched in that exact time and place. 

The light was doing crazy things to Isak’s bone structure. Turned his cheekbones sharp as ice, made the hollows beneath them even deeper. He was a pretty boy—a really pretty boy. Even watched as Isak bit his lip nervously, then soothed the skin with his tongue. Even was half-mesmerized by him. 

“Hey!” Magnus suddenly scream-shouted, leaning over to tap Isak’s shoulder. “That guy is definitely checking you out.” He pointed to their right where a guy about their age was most certainly looking their way. 

Jonas groaned. “Way to be obvious about it, man.”

Isak shook his head. “He’s not looking at me.”

“Why can’t you trust me on this?” Magnus whined. “He was looking at you, I swear. My gaydar is off the charts.”

It was only because Even was staring intently at Isak’s lips that he was able to see him mutter, “Something’s off the charts,” before taking a sip of beer. 

Even cracked a secret smile. 

“Leave Isak alone,” Jonas said. “He can get a guy if he wants.”

“No, he can’t!” Magnus said desperately, eyes wild. “We can’t leave him behind. No bro left unlaid!”

“Good God,” Isak said, groaning. 

“Hey.” Jonas wrapped a secure arm around Magnus. “Didn’t you say you were gonna be my wingman? C’mon.” He started to pull Magnus away, all the while Isak looked immensely grateful. 

“Let’s go dance!” Mikael shouted excitedly. He turned to Isak. “You coming?”

Isak shook his head, looking at Even, then the ground, then Mikael. “Nah, I’m just gonna hang out here for a bit.”

Even was disappointed; he wanted to see what Isak looked like when he let loose, how his skin looked hot and dewy. But he didn’t let that stop him from following Mikael into the crowd, pushing past writhing bodies. They found a place for themselves near the edge of the room where stripes of glowing neon pink and rays of lime green crossed to form a sputtering matrix of technicolor. 

They danced. And danced and danced and danced for hours. Screaming along to the songs they knew, jumping to the ones they didn’t. Their friends filtered in and out: Adam and Mutta engaged in some weird dance battle, Elias egging them on; Jonas, Magnus, and Mahdi brought over a group of girls, one of which smiled coyly at Mikael until he finally asked her to dance. 

Time was suspended in XOXO. Even wasn’t sure how many hours had passed, but it was enough that his chest was slick with sweat, his hair had completely fallen, and his entire body rushed with that kind of warm lust that begged for him to be close to someone. 

He leaned toward Jonas and Mahdi, who were trying to keep ahold of a wriggling Magnus. “I’m going to get some water!” They nodded. 

Getting back to the bar was far more difficult than it was leaving it hours ago. He had to set his feet and use his shoulders to push past the congealed mass of people that were standing, jumping, dancing, and grinding. It took him more than a few minutes to finally break free of the thick of the crowd. 

He slipped into an empty space between two girls at the bar, and waited another five minutes before a bartender came over. When he finally had his water, slipping cool down his throat, Even took in his surroundings.

It was almost pathetic how quickly his eyes found Isak. He was standing a few feet away from the bar, holding a sweaty glass of amber beer. His green shirt had been unbuttoned a couple buttons at the top so that the curve of one collar bone was visible, as well as the pretty sheen on his skin. His curls were wild, sticking out in a golden halo that was tipped with flashing neon colors. And that face. Isak had a face for art.

The guy talking to him probably thought so too. It was the guy that Magnus had pointed out earlier. Tall, pale brown hair, a cut jaw. 

He was leaning toward Isak like tall grass bends to the wind. The guy was smiling and chuckling, bending close every so often to say something near Isak’s ear. But Isak looked uninterested, just a little polite. He nodded and answered back, gave him responding smiles, but there was nothing of the Isak Even was used to. He may not have had a close relationship with Isak himself, but he’d done enough observation to know what Isak looked like when he was engaged. And right now, he wasn’t. 

Even brought his glass to his mouth and swallowed the rest of his drink. He abandoned the glass on the bartop and began walking over to them before he even realized what he was doing. He had no plan—only a drunk confidence that he had been riding for hours. 

It didn’t take Isak long to notice Even. Isak, who was looking at him with nervous eyes that couldn’t stay in one place. His fingers tapped a dance against the rim of his glass. It took the guy a few moments before he stopped what he was saying; he scanned Even’s body with mild interest and a lot of irritation. 

Even only had eyes for Isak though. He didn’t even mean to ask, “Do you want to dance?”

He saw more than he heard Isak say, “What?”

Even repeated himself. “Do you want to dance? With me?”

Even couldn’t tell if it was the neon lights, the beer in his hand, or an actual flush that made Isak’s cheeks turn a warm pink. He licked his beer-slick lips and his big green eyes danced all over Even’s face. His nod started out small, but became more confident after a moment. 

“Yeah,” he said. He chugged the rest of his beer and blindly handed the empty glass to the guy next to him. “Yeah, I do.”

They didn’t wait around to hear what the guy had to say. Even turned back into the crowd and trusted that Isak would follow. He led them to the darkest part of the club, under one of the room’s two speakers. The song had shifted into something slower, so that the bass seemed to reverberate around the room the same way a stone skipped over water. 

He turned and found Isak a foot away, glassy green eyes hooked into him. Even didn’t know what he was doing—Isak _or_ himself. 

Isak said something, but Even shook his head, pointing to the speaker. Isak licked his lips and shifted his rigid stance just a degree closer to Even, but Even still couldn’t hear him. When he shook his head again this time, Isak stepped right into his space, one hand lightly gripping onto his left shoulder and his lips at Even’s ear. 

“I don’t know how to dance.” The tip of Isak’s mouth danced against the shell of Even’s ear, and Even tried so hard not to be turned on by it. It sent some tingling feeling twirling down his body. Sonja’s face flashed briefly in his mind.

Even shook his head as if he could shake the attraction out. He was playing with fire, and he’d never been good at saying “no” to the things he wanted. 

His hands found Isak’s hips—tight, bony, slim. Isak jerked slightly under his tough, but rather than pull away, he slid his other hand up Even’s right shoulder. Even slotted one of his thighs between Isak’s legs. They were closer now than they had ever been before, touching all along their chests and hips and thighs. 

“Like this,” Even said. And then they began to move together. 

Isak wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t know how to dance. When Even tried to move him one way, he went the other. When Even tried to make them go slow, Isak went too fast. He wiggled strangely under Even’s hands, held on to him too tight. 

Even pulled Isak closer, so that his lips were against Isak’s ear. “Do what I’m doing.” Even ground his hips in a circle, and Isak copied him perfectly. “Yeah, like that.”

And the more they danced, the better he got—the more he drove Even crazy. As Isak melted in his arms and circled his hips, he couldn’t help but wonder if this was how Isak moved when he fucked someone. Sexy, slow, hypnotizingly. 

And then, dangerously and for the first time ever, Even wondered what Isak looked like with his clothes off. Not that he ever intended to do anything about it because it was just a fleeting thought, a little fantasy. But Isak was so sexy. It was hard to be pressed against him, touching him all over, and _not_ wonder, to not want to _do_ something about it. 

Even was impossibly turned on. Which was why, when he felt the sudden softness of Isak’s lips sweep over the hollow of his cheek, he didn’t flinch away. Isak likely didn’t even realize what he had done either. They were pressed together so tightly, legs interlocked, arms wrapped around each other, cheek against cheek. Even released a long breath, shuddering at the high he was experiencing. Alcohol and Isak—a dangerous combination. 

They pushed and pulled together effortlessly, as if they were performing a classic ballet duet on a Lincoln Center stage instead of a desperate dirty grind on a club floor. Though he hadn’t known what to do at first, Isak was a quick learner. Gone were the clunky movements of an awkward boy; instead, Isak worked his hips in Even’s hands, against Even’s groin, making him pant and pull impossibly closer. 

But then Even pulled back just enough so he could look down and watch their hips work together, and the sight made him dizzy. He liked the way they looked, slotted together like puzzle pieces. He liked the way his hands looked on Isak’s body, the way his shirt lifted with every movement. 

He wanted to do something about it so fucking bad. But he knew he couldn’t. Well, he _could_ technically, but he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t. Even if he was allowed. 

Even looked up, drunk on Isak. His green eyes were big as moons and they were cemented to Even. Even stared right back. And he knew that it wasn’t a good idea. Because now that he was up close, Even remembered all over again why he’d wanted Isak so much that first day.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if he did something. His drunk brain was warring against him, doing its damndest to show him all the ways he and Isak could make each other feel good. And with Isak looking the way he did...

Isak’s cheeks were stained red and red and red, and his lips were parted as he panted for air. He smoothed his hands up Even’s shoulders and slid them behind his neck, pulling him forward so that their foreheads were pressed together. Isak’s curls tickled his skin. Even felt his entire body flush with pleasure at the slide of Isak’s skin on his, his eyes hooding low. His vision was all filled up with Isak. And when Isak’s fingers twisted gently in the hair at Even’s nape, Even’s eyes fell shut and he shuddered hard. 

Even wasn’t sure if it was the people pushing around them, pulsing like a living thing and jostling them every which way, or if Isak meant to do it. Ultimately it didn’t matter. When Isak’s lips pressed softly against Even’s mouth, Even kissed him back. All at once, he was surprised, guilty, and aching for more. 

Half his brain was shutting down because he felt so guilty for betraying Sonja; the other half was focused on returning Isak’s kisses a second, third, and fourth time. His heart was heavy and his dick was hard, and he didn’t know what to do except smooth his hands around Isak’s waist and tug him even closer. 

He fisted his hands in Isak’s shirt, bunching it tight against Isak’s skin. Even though the speakers were roaring around them and his heart was thundering fiercely, Even felt like he could hear Isak’s moan against him. Or maybe it was the vibration against his lips. He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure of much at that moment—only that he felt good, he felt guilty, and he didn’t want this to stop. He really, really didn’t. 

Mutta had a different idea. Even didn’t notice the tapping on his shoulder at all. It wasn’t until Mutta physically pulled him away, making Even’s lips slip from Isak that he finally remembered that they weren’t alone, but rather surrounded by hundreds of strangers and their best friends. 

Mutta looked confused and maybe even a little bit amused as he took in the both of them, but more than that he was concerned. “Ev, you’ve gotta help me.”

Even took a step toward Mutta, but his hands stayed right where they were: tucked into the slight pivot above Isak’s hips. His body was warm and thrumming under Even’s hands. “What’s wrong?”

“Mikael’s passed out drunk in the bathroom,” Mutta was saying. “He drank way too much, and he’s too heavy for me to pick up. And I can’t find the boys anywhere.”

Even took half a moment in his head, trying to make it stretch. He was drunk as hell, but not so drunk that he didn’t realize what had happened here tonight. He and Isak had kissed—and he had liked it. A lot. But the remorse his buzz and Isak’s lips had kept mostly at bay was roaring toward center stage, and soon enough it would be all that Even could do to not cripple under its weight. 

His left hand dropped and then his right. Even looked at Isak. His lips were red and swollen from being softly pushed against Even’s again and again and again. His dewy skin was dappled in blinking neon lights. And his hypnotic eyes were big and dark, swirling with what looked like lust and fear. 

Even could relate.

“Alright,” he heard himself saying, almost against his will. He glanced one last time at Isak, then turned to Mutta. “Let’s go.” 

And Even walked away.


	3. Luxury in Self-Reproach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize that this update has taken two weeks to write and get out. It’s because this new chapter is, like the previous one, over 8,700 words. I hope everyone is still with me despite how long it’s been, and I hope you all enjoy!

The whole world was grey. 

He’d woken before the sun, the phantom feel of Isak’s lips fading like smoke as he blinked against the darkness. His heart had hammered a song he didn’t know the beat of, thrusting him into consciousness so fast he was almost dizzy. And all at once, the guilt returned to him, a maelstrom that pulled him down, down, down, down. Until it was all he could do not to drown in it. 

He didn’t move all day. He lay like a corpse in his bed, buried in blankets, watching the night’s darkness recede into something soft and grey. It was not a day for yellow and blue; it was a day for reflection. 

The sky had opened up sometime when the last dregs of night were still clinging to his bedroom, draping it all in shadow. It was a comforting sound—a sound he didn’t deserve. He watched the window for hours, admired as the glass pane became warped with heavy sheets of silvery rain. Occasionally, in a moment that was barely even a moment, the window would light up with a crack of golden lightning, before eventually the grey gloom returned to him and his room. 

The executioner’s block was in the distance and Even had never been so tense. He was going to tell her—Sonja. He’d probably already decided to tell her when Isak’s lips were still pressed to his the night before. It was hard to remember though, when all he could focus on, when he revisited that memory, was the feel of him and nothing else. And that only made him feel guiltier, leaving him stuck in a vicious cycle from which he was unsure how to escape. 

When the rain faded later that day, leaving Even alone in a screaming silence, he finally moved. Just a cock of his hips and roll of his shoulder onto his side. He pulled his laptop from his bedside table and opened it, blinking against the brightness of its screen. The time was three o’clock in the afternoon. Nearly time to kneel at the block. 

He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. The little glow in the dark stars he’d pressed there—that he thought were so charming—now watched him back with a sad, faded green light. Even closed his eyes. 

When he opened them again, the time was creeping closer to five and Even knew he had no more time left. His stomach churned fiercely. It bubbled and stirred, swirling acid and anxiety and last night’s vodka around like a brew. The dread he’d felt all morning and afternoon compounded with every minute that passed, until all Even felt was doomed. 

Back in Los Angeles, Sonja would be waking up for her internship any minute. She’d turn the alarm off with a flick of her finger, yawn and stretch, pull herself from bed. Maybe she’d wake with a smile and shuffle into her sunny kitchen for breakfast. 

No matter what, Even knew, he would be ruining her entire day. 

He scrolled through his phone until he found her number, his thumb hovering over _Facetime_. His heart began beating faster—so fast that he could hear it in the stillness of his bedroom. A terrible, awful song he wanted to drown out.

Even pressed his thumb down. It took six rings for Sonja to answer the call, six rings for Even’s heart rate to build and build until it was beating at a frequency that made his eyes rattle and blur. The screen came to brilliant life with the image of another time, another place.

The sight of Sonja’s face and the sound of her familiar “Hi!” did nothing to ease his mounting dread. 

“Hi,” he replied in a hoarse voice.

Her smile was white, so sunny and bright, offset by the pretty tan of her skin. She was out of bed, leaning over to adjust the phone before she walked to her dresser. “Hey, babe.”

“What are you doing?” He didn’t particularly care what she was doing at that moment. He was, on some subconscious level, prolonging his own misery so as to avoid what was to come. 

She gave him a brief smile before getting distracted by something. “Oh, you know, just getting ready for work. Last night…” Sonja kept talking, telling Even about the beach she’d visited the previous week, how a fellow intern ate her lunch despite having her name written across the lid, the wild bar she was going to this weekend with some friends, her new assignment at the internship. 

Her voice was a low buzz in his ears. The very sound of it made his shoulders tense up, made his heart rate climb higher, made the storm inside his head swirl dangerously. He could barely focus on her image, shifting in and out of frame as she buttoned up a pink silken blouse and wiggled into a tight black skirt. 

The sight of her hips moving like that made him think of Isak, and his heart wilted inside his body and sank to his toes. Even finally interrupted her. “I need to talk to you.”

Sonja stopped. Her eyes sharpened when she caught on to Even’s tone. He never interrupted her. She came closer to study him, eyes flicking all over the screen. “About what?”

“Us,” he forced himself to say. “What we’re doing.”

“Are you breaking up with me?” she asked bluntly. Her face had lost all its brightness, all its joy. In its place was a new girl that was shuttered, serious, sharpened.

Even leaned up on his elbow, the blanket falling down his chest. “What? No. No, I’m not.”

“Have you violated one of our rules?” 

Something cold shot through his blood. “ _No_ ,” he assured her. “I haven’t.” 

“Are you about to?” The silence that followed was eerie. It was nothing like the silences that seemed to choke him before she had left. This one was devoid of all the tension of before, completely scraped clean of all things familiar. It was alien. He didn’t like it. 

They both knew what she meant by her question. _No discussing hookups or one night stands with each other while Sonja was abroad._ Even most certainly was about to break that rule. 

“I think we need to talk,” he answered without answering. 

She was quick, the words out of her mouth like a bullet. “There’s nothing to talk about.” Her face was still closed off, juxtaposed oddly with the bright bedroom blooming golden around her. 

Even felt his opportunity slipping through his fingers. If he couldn’t tell her about Isak… “But—”

She interrupted him sharply. “ _No_ , Even. There’s nothing to talk about. We discussed it all before I left.”

“Son, please.” The desperation was rising in him like a wave. “I need—”

“No.” Her voice was hard and firm, the kind she took on when she thought she knew better than him. “That was the first rule, Even. You don’t ask me questions and I don’t ask you.”

“I’m not trying to ask you questions,” he promised. 

“Even, stop. Respect what I want.” Her lip curled in anger. “You’re always so pushy.”

He sighed, deflating. He was defeated. Always the loser, never the victor with her. He was sure that she was studying all his tells onscreen, saving them away for later. 

“Look,” she finally said, “I have to go.”

There was a pinch in his heart that hurt. He sat up completely. “No, please. I’ve been waiting all day to talk to you.”

She fixed him with an unimpressed look. “Even, I have to go to work.” He suddenly felt like a child, skipping his Friday class and begging her to stay. 

“Yeah.” He nodded. “Alright.”

“Okay.” She began to move around again, buttoning the last open button of her blouse. The pink strap of her bra disappeared from sight. 

“I hope you have a good day.” At least one of them should. His would likely be spent fixating on the conversation they’d just had, worrying over it like a toothache. 

“You too, Ev. Go do something fun.” She wasn’t even looking at the screen.

He snorted unkindly. “Yeah.” 

“Love you,” she said, finger suddenly hovering over the screen.

“Love you too.”

The call was cut. Where before there was her face, first smiling and then not, now there was nothing but the cold sight of his own reflection. He looked miserable, no smile anywhere to be seen and all the light faded from his eyes—just like his stars. 

He felt as good as he looked.

His attempt at righting his wrong had been useless. More than useless, if that was even possible. Because now, Sonja knew something had happened. He’d basically confirmed it for her. So she knew, but he hadn’t been granted the catharsis of telling her himself and explaining what had happened, which left him feeling lost and hurt and guilty all over again. He didn’t deserve catharsis. He knew that. But damn, did he crave it. 

His phone beeped from where it lay in his palm. For a moment, he was almost excited, expecting to see Sonja’s name light up his screen. Instead he saw a text from Mikael complaining about working with a hangover and a text from Mutta that simply said, _What are you doing?_

Mutta. Even thought about the heat of Isak’s lips pressed to his and Mutta pulling him away. It was just one more person he needed to explain himself to. 

_Nothing_ , he answered. His fingers tangled together anxiously.

Mutta replied faster than Even anticipated. _Wanna hang out?_

Even didn’t necessarily feel like hanging out—with anyone—but he did want to talk to him. _Is Adam home?_ Mutta and Adam had lived together since they graduated high school. But Even didn’t want an audience for the conversation he and Mutta were going to have.

 _No_ , Mutta wrote. _It’s just me._

_I’ll come over._

Even shook away the ache in his stiff muscles and climbed out of bed for the first time since he’d stumbled into it the night before. He barely gave himself time to shrug on the first clothes he laid his hands on and slip on a random pair of shoes before he was out the door. 

Outside, the world smelled clean. The rain had drenched everything in silver droplets, and although it was a grey day, it was its own sort of lovely. Even tried to focus on that instead of the shame bubbling in his gut. He had no idea what he was going to say to Mutta—only that he was going to have to face the only other person, besides Isak, who knew exactly what he had done. 

Unfortunately, he was often a slave to his own mind, and putting thoughts out of his head was never as easy as it sounded. By the time he made it to the old building Mutta lived in, he was sweating and his mind was a tumbleweed of worry and memories he tried to suppress. He bypassed the rickety elevator and took the stairs two at a time, letting his hand run carelessly up the splintered railing. Mutta and Adam’s apartment was on the fourth floor, tucked away at the end of a winding hallway, so when he got to their door, his heart was pumping hard and his breath was coming out in short, quick pants. 

He twisted the doorknob and pushed into the apartment like he always did. But instead of seeing Mutta waiting for him, he was greeted with a sight that made his heart drop to his toes. 

Jonas was half-sprawled across the old brown leather couch that divided the living room from the apartment entrance. His curly hair was a dark cloud hovering above the back, swaying as he twisted around to smile at Even. “‘Sup,” he said, like Even wasn’t chilled to the core. 

A moment later, there was a clang that sounded like rattling dishes and then Adam’s head peeked around the kitchen wall. “Ev!” 

For a moment, Even wanted to smile at the enthusiasm Adam always had for him, but he was too surprised to do anything but offer back a “Hey” that seemed casual enough to trick them both. 

Adam returned to the kitchen, but raised his voice so Even could hear him. “You should’ve gotten here earlier, man. We just got back from the gym.”

His body felt like a bag of bricks, but his reply was light and airy. “Glad I didn’t then.” He toed off his shoes, knowing that there was no way he could turn right back around without raising serious suspicion. 

Jonas snorted. “Yeah, Adam’s a fucking drill sergeant. You’re lucky you weren’t there.” 

Even watched Jonas for any signs of change—anything that would tell him that he knew what Even had done. But it turned out he was paying attention to the wrong person. As he shuffled past the apartment entrance and into the living room, he was in for a much worse—or better, his memory tried to argue—surprise. 

He hadn’t expected to be confronted with the sight of Isak so soon after their kiss. But there he was, sitting in the windowsill, backlit by pale light and streaks of drying rain. And, given the utter turmoil Even was currently embroiled in, hotter than he had any right to be. 

He was shirtless, back pressed against the window pane, legs splayed wide open. He wore nothing but a backwards snapback and short white shorts that were riding halfway up his lovely pale thighs. He was glistening with sweat and breathing heavily, flat abs clenching with every breath. He looked like he’d just been fucking. He looked obscene. He looked like a dream. 

And he wasn’t looking at Even at all. 

“So what brings you over?” Adam walked into the living room balancing a plate of steaming food in one hand and a smoothie in the other. When he sat on the couch, he handed the smoothie to Jonas and then began shoveling heaps of watery eggs into his mouth. 

Isak sat forward, muscles shifting. Even felt his skin run cold for a flash of a second and then burn hot. 

“I actually came to see—”

“Me.” Mutta came into view, pulling a sweatshirt over his head. “Sorry, I was getting dressed. You ready to go?” He stared Even hard in the eyes, as if to communicate, _Go along with this_.

“Hey,” Adam whined, “where are you going?”

From his periphery, Even saw that Isak was fiddling with his own fingers, not daring to look. He was grateful for it; he didn’t know if he could handle the power of those eyes on him at that moment—when they’d been pressed together only a handful of hours ago. 

“Dinner. And it’s a date, so you can’t crash,” Mutta said, faux-haughty. He began walking toward the door and Even followed.

“Lame!” Adam called after them. 

Mutta ushered them both out the door quickly, and when it was shut behind them, they stared at one another. It was silent between them, an aching kind of silence that Even desperately wanted to fill. He was boiling in his own confusion and guilt, and he didn’t know what to do with it. 

Mutta’s face softened into a small, kind smile. He put an arm around Even and gently pushed him down the hall. “Come on, bud. Let’s get some dinner.” 

They didn’t talk until they were in the restaurant, a nearby Indian place Even and Mutta had found in high school. It brought back fond memories. Memories that weren’t tainted with the drama that had apparently become his life. 

It was Mutta that spoke first. “So what happened?”

They both knew what he meant. Even’s chest tightened. “I don’t know.” He took a breath. “I don’t know.”

“Have you talked to him?” Mutta asked.

Even shook his head. “No. No, of course not.”

“Why ‘of course not’?”

“He—” Even licked his lips. “Isak and I aren’t friends.”

“I see.” There was a long, tense moment of silence between them. 

Even felt that moment in all of its splices of time, like a blade to the skin. Finally he offered up something of his own. “I called Sonja this morning.”

Mutta waited and then asked, “Did you tell her?”

“I tried.”

“Why’s that?”

Even looked up sharply, confused. “What do you mean? I cheated on her.”

“Did you?” Mutta asked. His kind face held no sign of humor; only patience.

“Wha—” Even shook his head as if to clear it from the fog. “You saw me…and Isak. Last night.” 

“I did,” Mutta confirmed. There seemed to be half a smirk wanting to grow on his lips, but it soon died.

“We were kissing,” Even felt compelled to say.

“You were,” Mutta agreed. 

“Then why are you asking me if I cheated?”

Mutta took a few seconds to gather what he wanted to say, pursing his lips as he thought. “Ev, please don’t take this the wrong way, but wasn’t this whole arrangement made so that you and Sonja could ‘be’ with other people while still being together?”

“Well, yes, _technically_ , but—”

“But what?” Mutta gently interrupted him. 

Even searched for words. When he found none, he helplessly said, “I cheated.”

Mutta looked sad for him, dark eyes welling with sympathy. “You said you called Sonja. What did she say?”

Even huffed in frustration—not at Mutta, but at the situation. And a little bit at Sonja too for being so difficult when it came to their relationship. “She wouldn’t let me tell her anything. She said we talked about everything we needed to before she left. I tried to tell her, but she said I needed to respect what she wanted.”

“Ev,” Mutta started, “you know I love you and I want the best for you. But isn’t the point of this whole arrangement that you aren’t cheating if you guys hook up with other people?”

“It’s…” Even groaned, scrubbing his face with both hands. “Fuck. I don’t know.”

“I think that you tried to do what you thought was best.” Mutta waited until Even looked back at him. “You tried to tell her—even despite the rules. You…you did your part. And that might not assuage what you’re feeling right now, but it does sort of absolve you of wrongdoing. Because you didn’t do anything wrong, Even. Not according to the rules of your own relationship.”

Even sighed, eyes falling shut. He hated this. He hated being confronted by logic that appeased his own guilt. He deserved to wallow in misery and pay the price for what he’d done. Because at the core of it all, he still remembered how good it felt to do it, and that was the ultimate sin, wasn’t it?

“Can I ask you a question?” 

“Sure.” Even began to tear the napkin on the table to shreds, watching it fall like snow from his fingertips.

“Why’d you do it?”

Even raised his eyes and cocked a brow in confusion.

For the first time today, Mutta seemed hesitant. His cheeks flushed in embarrassment. “Isak. Why’d you kiss him?”

If that wasn’t the million-dollar question. Even chuckled without humor. “I don’t know.” He did though; he knew. _I always thought he was attractive, even before Sonja finally said yes to dating me. I was horny. I was drunk. You don’t know what his hips feel like when they move._ “He’s cute, I guess.”

“Yeah, but that’s not the only reason.” Mutta sounded confident. “I know you. A cute face doesn’t persuade you this easily. And, as far as I knew, you were pretty set in not taking advantage of the arrangement in your relationship.”

“I’m not,” he said. “Or, well, I wasn’t.”

“But you did…”

There was a pregnant pause. 

“I’m not trying to make you feel bad, Even. I’m just—” Mutta seemed to work something out in his head. “I guess I just wonder what it is—or was—about Isak that made you change your mind. Even for a night.” 

“I don’t know,” he said again uselessly.

Mutta smiled kindly and looked at Even for a long time. If it was anyone else, Even might have felt uncomfortable, challenged even. But this was Mutta, arguably his sweetest friend. 

After a while, Mutta opened up his menu; and though his words were delivered nonchalantly, they struck Even right in the chest. “Maybe that’s something you need to think about.”

So he did. Isak was at the back of his mind during the entirety of their dinner. Isak came to the forefront when Even said goodbye to Mutta and walked home alone under the dark veil of night. He stayed when Even climbed the stairs to his apartment, stripped his clothes, and burrowed back under the comforting weight of his blanket.

The only problem was that thinking about Isak so thoroughly, with such intense concentration, was not without its physical consequences. Isak was not a thought to be touched on and then abandoned—especially when Even knew what his lips, his hips, and his skin felt like on his own. 

He’d underestimated his own strength in the face of Isak’s apparent power over him—or, at the very least, his body. 

Aside from last night, Even was harder than he’d been in weeks. He wrapped his hand around his cock, stroking it once. A bolt of shocking pleasure went through him like lightning, its little tendrils snaking out through his arms and fingers and thighs. He stroked again, thought of Isak’s thighs in white shorts, and felt the trembling of desire in his lower belly. 

It would be so easy to come right now, thinking of Isak. He was better than any pornography—real, warm, smart, sharp, sexy, and always around. He was equal parts fodder for his fantasies and his nightmares. 

Even stopped, annoyed with his own body. 

He rolled over onto his stomach, ignoring the pang of neglected desire still stirring within him, and opened his phone. Scrolling through his and Sonja’s text messages was a sad process, the entire screen almost entirely dominated by blue. As of late, Sonja had gotten into the habit of answering his messages less and less frequently. And although he couldn’t blame her—building a new, temporary life in another country—he couldn’t help the disappointment that always followed when she didn’t answer. 

Still, he sent another, hoping to wash away Isak’s memory: _I hope you’re having a good day at work._

He rolled onto his back and watched the pale green stars on his ceiling. After thirty minutes had gone by with no reply, Even embraced the fact that Sonja was either too busy or still angry with him from earlier. He closed his eyes, shutting the world out.

For a second night that week, Isak followed him into his dreams.

* * *

On Saturday, he tried to force himself to be productive. He threw away the empty paint tubes on his desk, wiped away the rainbow mess they’d left behind. He did several loads of laundry, watching the mountain of dirty clothes in his basket dwindle until it was nothing but a hill. He changed the sheets on his bed and made it for the first time in weeks. 

When he was done with his bedroom, he moved into the living room. The DVDs he and Mikael always left out were put back on the shelf mounted above the television. He swept away popcorn kernels that lived in the seams of the couch cushions, and then swept the floor. He opened a window to let in the cool air, hoping it would drown out the stale smell of their apartment. 

Mikael didn’t come out of his room until late afternoon. Even heard the light patter of his feet on the hardwood floors, but didn’t move from where he stood hunched over the stovetop, scrubbing at the stains burned into its glass face. Mikael stood in the entrance to their kitchen for several long moments, watching him. 

“Chris is having a thing tonight. Wanna go?”

Even paused. “Chris who?” The first Chris that came to mind was the short brunette guy that Eva was sometimes on with and sometimes off. 

“Berg,” Mikael answered. “The girl.” He walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge, staring into its belly long and hard.

“What’s a ‘thing’?”

Mikael plucked a bottle of water from the fridge. He made a sound like he was thinking. “It’s a tier below party. More than 10 people, less than 50.”

“Who all’s going?” Even asked warily. He scrubbed harder at the stovetop, his muscles beginning to ache. 

There was silence for a few seconds—enough to make Even pause and look over his shoulder. Mikael was watching him, studying him. His eyes bounced around Even’s face as if there was something he could glean from it. 

When Mikael finally spoke, Even wished he hadn’t. “Do you mean is Isak going?”

Even dropped the sponge, soapy suds flying up his arm, and turned around fully. His fingers suddenly grew clammy inside the gloves. Did Mikael _know_? “What?” 

“Mutta told me.” Mikael’s voice was low in the quiet hum of their kitchen, but Even felt as if he had screamed. His face likely reflected that feeling, as Mikael continued. “He didn’t mean to. He was just worried. _Is_ worried. You haven’t been yourself the last few weeks, and then on Thursday, you’re making out with Isak.”

Even’s heart was in his throat, making it hard for him to breathe. But he said, “Kissing. We kissed. We didn’t make out.”

Mikael rolled his eyes, but quickly settled back into a serious mask. “Did you tell Sonja?”

Even made a noise of upset. “Did he tell you _everything_?” 

“No,” Mikael assured him. “I guessed that on my own. The only thing he told me was that you and Isak kissed. Nothing else.”

He was relieved. For a moment, he worried that he would have to add distrust to his list of growing problems. But even in that brief moment of skepticism, Even couldn’t blame Mutta for telling Mikael—accident or not. He knew himself and he knew how out of character he had been. And his friends were picking up on that too. 

“Why are you keeping secrets from me, Ev?” Mikael asked him softly. He almost sounded hurt. 

It was another reason for Even to feel guilty—shutting out his best friend. If Even ever wanted to feel better, he had to stop that too. “I was ashamed, I guess.”

“Ashamed?” Mikael’s face twisted in confusion. “Of what?”

“Kissing him.”

Mikael blinked twice, brows furrowing deeper. “You’re ashamed of Isak?”

“No, no. I mean, not really. I guess…” He sighed in frustration, letting his head drop back against the microwave. “I’m ashamed that I cheated.”

“Ev, I don’t know how else to say this to you, but you didn’t cheat.” Mikael stepped closer so that he was sitting at the edge of the kitchen table, facing him. 

“Yeah, Mutta said the same thing.”

“Well, we’re right. You can’t exactly cheat on someone who’s given you express permission to be with other people.”

“It’s not—”

“What?” Mikael interrupted him, gaining that fire he always had when he battled Even’s insecurities for him. “It’s not what?”

“I don’t know.” Even’s frustration was threatening to boil him from the inside out. He _heard_ what Mutta had said and what Mikael was saying, but for some reason it didn’t compute in his head. To Even, he was worthy of the punishment kissing Isak deserved. 

“Ev, let me ask you something. What did Sonja say when you told her?”

He closed his eyes. Even reliving their conversation made his skin sweat. “She didn’t let me tell her anything. She didn’t want to hear it.”

Mikael chuckled unkindly. “Even, I love you, but sometimes I can’t stand you.”

“That’s rude,” he pointed out.

“This isn’t on you.” Mikael stood, pushing off of the table. “You need to realize that. I don’t think you need me to tell you that this was all Sonja’s idea and that she explicitly told you that you can do what you want. Within her dumbass rules of course. And before you come to her defense, you need to take a moment and really consider her part in this.” 

“Mik…”

Mikael sighed in frustration. “Something strange is happening in your relationship right now. I think we can both agree on that. And yeah, maybe it will all go back to normal when she comes home. But she’s not home right now, and she won’t be for another eight months. So you need to just live. Just do what you want to do. If you don’t want to ever touch another person but her while she’s gone, that’s fine. But if you do… Well, that’s fine too.”

Even stared at his best friend in the silence that followed, feeling only marginally better, yet still immensely grateful. But beneath all that, the guilt still lingered like a grey smog. “I feel like the worst person,” he admitted.

Barely a second had gone by before Even was suddenly wrapped up in Mikael’s arms. His voice was just a mumble. “I can’t stand watching you tear yourself down for a girl that I know wouldn’t do the same for you. We both saw that picture.”

Even pulled away. “Stop. Please. I don’t want to talk about that picture.” Besides Isak, that picture of the stranger’s lips on Sonja’s cheek was the only other thing that haunted his brain.

“Okay. Okay.” Mikael paused, watching him. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Even told him. “I just don’t want to think about that right now. That’s what Thursday night was for—helping me forget it.”

“Is that why you kissed Isak? To forget?”

“No.” The answer came quick and honest. Even didn’t kiss Isak to forget Sonja. In fact, Sonja hadn’t been in his mind at all. Maybe that was why it—Isak—was so scary. So dangerous. 

Mikael made a short humming noise, as if Even had something revelatory. He didn’t comment on it though. Instead, he asked, “Are you gonna come tonight?” 

“I don’t know.”

“You can’t avoid Isak forever, y’know.” Mikael made as if he was going to walk away, but he turned back at the last second. “We all run in the same circle. If you don’t want to have anything to do with him, then don’t. But don’t be a coward about it. And don’t avoid your friends either.”

He was right. Mikael was right and he hated it. 

He hated the way Isak looked at the party that night even more.

Even noticed him immediately, standing half a head taller than everyone else around him. The red snapback he was wearing—the same one from the day before—did nothing to hide the wild curls peeking out from under its edges and curling around his ears like a golden laurel. It was an unjustifiable mixture of cute and hot, and it fascinated Even more than he was comfortable admitting. 

But what was probably the most unfair about the whole thing was the casual way in which Isak had rolled the sleeves of his plaid shirt up his arms, exposing the pale underbelly of his wrists and the lean strength of his forearms. Even could hardly believe those were the same arms that had been wrapped around his neck only two nights ago. 

“Come on.” Mikael caught on to Even’s staring. He set an iron hand between Even’s shoulder blades, pushing him along. 

The tingling that broke out along the right side of his body when they passed Isak was almost too much for Even to ignore—to handle even. It was as if all his nerves had been singed, leaving him over-sensitive and on high alert. 

Even still, he kept his eyes ahead, too scared that, if he allowed himself, he’d fall right into Isak’s orbit. Mikael led him to the kitchen where he pulled a Coke out of the fridge and shoved it into Even’s empty hands. The cold nearly shocked him back to life. 

“You good?” 

Even barely took a second to answer back. “Yeah. Of course.”

Mikael snorted and rolled his eyes playfully. “Whatever you say, lover boy. C’mon, let’s go downstairs.”

In the basement, they found Mutta and Yousef flipping through the cards of some new party game. As they walked up, Mutta laughed in delight and held up the card he was reading. “Give the person across from you a lap dance,” he recited. He glanced up to stare meaningfully at Yousef, who sat on the opposite couch. 

“I’m taken,” Yousef reminded him, hands raised as if in surrender. 

“Whatever,” Mutta said, pulling Even down beside him. “Ev will give me one, won’t you?”

“You didn’t even need to ask, buddy.” He tried to sink into the familiar warmth of trading remarks with his friends, but he felt like a rusty toy attempting to come back to life. 

“See? That’s why you’re my favorite.”

Mikael leaned forward to grab a handful of cards and joined Mutta in reading out loud the most ridiculous ones. Even sat back and listened, smiling when it was appropriate, groaning when it wasn’t. Every few minutes, he had to reassert his focus, which was slipping by quick as sand in a broken hourglass.

The thing was, it was difficult to concentrate knowing that Isak was only a flight of stairs away. In so little time, he’d seemed to stake a significant portion of Even’s attention. He occupied his thoughts, his dreams, and, judging by the near-constant thrum still sitting at the bottom of his belly, his desires as well.

It was driving Even mad and he didn’t know what to do about it. Surely there was a conclusion, a climax, of this particular story that he could reach. Anything, _anything_ to rid himself of this never-ending fixation.

“Doing okay?” Yousef asked suddenly, dropping down next to him. His eyes were soft, his voice even softer.

Even didn’t know what “doing okay” felt like anymore. But he didn’t want to worry his friends any more than he apparently already had. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Why do you ask?”

Yousef smiled gently. “You just looked really lost in your own head there.”

“Oh.” Even chuckled, trying to mask what was surely written all over his face. “Yeah, you know how I get.”

Yousef nodded. “How’s Sonja?”

What a question. Even he wasn’t sure how to answer it. Aside from a few terse text messages back and forth, she hadn’t spoken to him. Not since the FaceTime call. It was just another brick added to a growing wall of stress, threatening to topple over at any given moment.

“She’s good. Loving California and her internship.” _Maybe a little too much_ , he thought uncharitably.

“I bet.” Of all the boys, Yousef had been closest to Sonja, which wasn’t saying much at all. Sonja hadn’t liked the rowdiness of his friend group; she’d always preferred her own.

“What are you guys talking about?” Sana suddenly appeared between them both, her black hijab floating behind her like a comet’s tail. Behind her, Even could make out Chris and Vilde coming down the stairs, closely followed by Mahdi, Jonas, and Isak. 

It was a feat to look Sana directly in the eyes and answer her. “A little bit of this and that,” he teased. 

Sana rolled her eyes, but the move was mitigated by the smirk on her mouth. “How interesting,” she remarked dryly. She ran a careful hand through Yousef’s black hair and leaned down to murmur close to his ear.

He glanced away, feeling too intrusive otherwise. But then he succumbed to the very thing he’d been warring against since he walked into the door: looking at Isak. Even was almost powerless to avoid it. Especially when Isak was absentmindedly pressing the glass lip of his beer bottle to his pink lips as if he didn’t know how fucking distracting he was. The move made him think about his hands pressed to the twin peaks of Isak’s hips and his own body flooded with arousal. 

Even could suddenly feel his heartbeat everywhere: in the hollow of his throat, behind his eyes, in his fingertips, in his toes. He was almost convinced he could even hear the blood surging through his veins like angry waves. He hated it. He hated the feeling so much. And he hated it so much because of how much he really, really didn’t. 

Magnus coming down the stairs like a herd of angry cattle only barely captured his attention away. The front of his shirt was splashed wet and semi-transparent through the thin white cotton. In each hand he was carrying a beer bottle, one topped with a dingy yellow umbrella and the other with a fluorescent pink straw. 

Even watched as he handed the beer with the straw to Isak, whose face crumpled into the frown he always wore when Magnus confused him. “Why’s there a straw in it?” he complained.

“Fuck you,” Magnus said lightly. “I tried to make it fancy.”

Isak rolled his eyes, but set down his empty bottle anyway and brought the new one to his mouth. The straw slipped around in a circle as Isak chased it with his tongue, curling around it before his lips closed around it and he sucked. Even’s lips parted in shock. How could someone with that face and those curls look so… _dirty_ without even knowing it?

Even stared so long and so hard that eventually he was caught. When Magnus looked over and saw Even’s eyes fixed in their direction, he perked up and yelled out his name. Even dropped his eyes immediately, cheeks turning hot.

He heard an excited “Come on!” and Even only had a second or two to hope and pray to God that Isak wasn’t with him before Magnus was in his face, pulling him into a hug. 

“When did you get here?” he asked, nearly sitting on Even’s lap as he collapsed onto the couch beside him. He stank of beer and his hairy nipple was visible through the wet spot of his t-shirt. 

“An hour ago,” Even answered, breathing deep to calm his racing heart. Isak wasn’t with him—thank God—still on the other side of the room, lips pursed around that straw that was as pink as his sly mouth. 

“Ah. Yeah, I was roasting Jonas and Isak in beer pong upstairs, but then I saw Vilde and ended up slipping and fell on the table.” He chuckled and pointed to his nipple. “That’s how this happened. Anyways, they beat me. Oh, wait, I haven’t introduced you yet. Aleks, come here!”

Even blinked, trying to take in all the information Magnus had dumped on him at once. He was clearly drunk, but sometimes it was hard to tell with his near-constant level of enthusiasm for life. 

A boy Even hadn’t noticed at all sauntered up to them. He was of average height, but the way he walked made it seem like he was ten feet tall. He had dark brown hair pushed back off his face and a smile that shone with confidence. The NWA shirt he wore was raggedy, but intentionally so, splotched with bleach and paint. He looked like a pretentious skater boy. 

“Even,” Magnus was saying, pulling him back to attention. “This is Aleksander. Aleks, this is Even.”

Aleksander reached out a hand to shake Even’s. “‘Sup, man. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Even ignored the strong grip of his hand and smiled. “You too,” he lied. 

But then something wiggled in his mind. A memory and Even remembered who this was. _“Isak’s got a new boyfriend,”_ Magnus had said that day at the beach. Isak had grumbled and denied it— _“Aleksander is a friend.”_ —but even Jonas had assured him it wasn’t for Aleksander’s lack of trying. 

Even studied him with a newfound interest. So this was the boy who liked Isak. Objectively, Even could see his appeal. He had good features: dark pink lips, clear skin, light brown eyes, and shiny hair. But Even had no idea—apart from himself, even if only for a night—what Isak found attractive. 

Magnus made a sudden noise as if he remembered something. “Even, can you settle something for me? I’ve already asked Aleks and he says he can’t decide. So Isak said that if I was gay, I’d be a bottom—”

“Dude,” Jonas groaned from across the room, catching on to their conversation. The volume of his voice caused the rest of the people in the room to quiet down too as they tuned into what was happening.

“What?” Magnus asked. “I need to know.”

“You’re so fucking embarrassing,” Isak said, shaking his head. It was the first time he’d heard Isak’s throaty voice in days, and for half a second, Even was spellbound. 

“You’re the one who said it!” Magnus shouted.

“Said what?” Vilde asked, flicking her white-blonde hair behind her shoulder as she approached them. 

Two pink spots bloomed on Magnus’ cheeks, but he was nothing if not bold. “Isak said that if I was gay, I’d be a bottom because I whine too much.”

“Isak just said that because _he’s_ a bitchy bottom,” Chris commented, giggling into her drink.

Isak furrowed his brows, those lovely beer-slick lips arching down into a frown. “I’m not a bottom.”

“Are you a top?” Chris asked, waggling her brows.

Isak scoffed, scandalized. “I’m nothing to you guys. No one needs to think about me that way, so we’re not talking about this right now.”

“Oh, come on,” Chris goaded him. She pushed her pink sunglasses up on top of her head. 

“Yeah,” Sana chimed in, smirking at his miffed expression. Yousef looked equally as entertained, tightening his arm around her shoulders.

“Ask someone else and leave me alone,” Isak muttered. He shifted where he sat on the floor, pulling one leg up as if to protect himself. 

“You are absolutely no fun,” Magnus whined. “I bet Even would tell us which one he is.”

Isak wouldn’t look over at them. He scratched at his hair and pulled the brim of his hat down over his eyes. “Then ask Even.”

Magnus whipped his head around and parted his lips, but Even beat him to it, heart hammering. “Skip.”

Magnus groaned. “Why does no one want to answer my questions?”

“It’s probably because they’re invasive,” Jonas supplied, shrugging casually. 

“That’s the fun of it!” Magnus argued. 

“Not if there aren’t any other options,” Isak muttered. 

That, at least, got Magnus’ attention. He sat up, eyes gleaming. “Fine. Truth or dare?”

“Ugh, _God_. I didn’t mean this.”

“Truth or dare!” Magnus insisted. He said it again, and again, and again, until he’d gained momentum and support from everyone else, and then the entire room—apart from Isak himself and Even—was chanting “Truth or dare!”

“ _Fine_ ,” Isak relented. “If it makes you shut the fuck up. I choose dare.”

The room cheered, but Magnus made his disapproval known. “You’re such a pussy. I wanted you to choose ‘Truth.’”

Isak shrugged, unaffected. The combination of his casual insouciance and the lazy way he sat, one leg bent so his jeans pulled tight against his thighs and groin, made the butterflies in Even’s belly wake up. 

“I dare you…” Magnus trailed off, eyes lifting upward as he considered what to say. And then he smiled, a Grinch smile that took up the entire width of his face. “I dare you to read out loud what Emma Larzen texted you when she was drunk last week.”

Jonas and Mahdi crowed in delight while Isak’s head dropped back in defeat. He swallowed and his throat bobbed hypnotizingly. Without moving from his position, Isak slid his hand into his front pocket and pulled out his phone. 

“This is such bullshit,” he mumbled, flicking his thumb across the screen and stopping half a minute later. He began to say something, but stopped to moan in irritation or embarrassment. Or both. Either way, the sound did cruel things to Even’s inside.

“‘I want you to rip my panties off with your teeth,’” Isak read in a voice without emotion. His cheeks flushed a petal pink that began to crawl down his lily pale neck. “‘Sorry. Ha ha. That was my friend. She stole my phone.’”

There was a burst of shocked laughter throughout the room, but Even was too focused on Isak’s expression to mind it. Isak was blushing hot, but it just made him all the more becoming. His green eyes flicked around the basement, taking in the way his friends egged him on, but they steered completely clear of where Even sat across the room. And now that Even was paying such close attention, he realized that he hadn’t looked into Isak’s eyes—with those eyes looking right back—since the night they kissed. 

For the first time since it happened, Even wondered, _Is he ashamed too?_

“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up, you assholes.” Isak turned to face Magnus, and it was so close to looking at Even that his heart jumped. “Truth or dare.”

“Truth,” Magnus accepted confidently.

“Why have you been searching gay porn on your phone?” Isak fired back.

Though the girls made a low _ooh_ sound, Mikael and Mutta began giggling, wholly entertained. Even spared a confused smile of his own as they all waited for Magnus to answer.

“I was trying to support you!” he cried.

“By watching ‘Dirty twink gets fucked in a bathroom’?” Isak asked, deadpan.

“ _Yes_ ,” Magnus insisted. “Eskild said you’re a twink and that I should be an ally.”

“You,” Isak said seriously, pointing at him, “need to stop talking to Eskild behind my back.”

“Why? He’s so much more fun than you.”

Isak shrugged, unaffected. “Oh well.”

“Whatever.” Magnus looked around the room. “Vilde, truth or dare?”

“No, no,” Eva interjected. “You’ve already gone. Let someone else go.”

And that’s how the night devolved into a series of increasingly inappropriate questions and dares that told Even far too much about his friends than he was ready for. He learned that Vilde preferred anal, which made Magnus tense up like an excited puppy beside him; Eva admitted that the craziest place she and Jonas had ever had sex when they were dating was her mom’s bed; Mahdi was dared to pose for a shirtless picture and send it to the last girl he’d texted, which ended up being one of his group partners from class; Chris executed a riveting breakdance performance to “My Heart Will Go On”; Sana reluctantly rapped a handful of Tupac lyrics to Yousef’s utter delight; Yousef revealed where his and Sana’s first date was to Sana’s utter embarrassment; Mutta gave Mikael a lapdance that was more wiggling like a fish out of water than anything sexy; and Mikael was dared to prank call his boss, who thankfully didn’t answer the phone. 

Even even joined in once the pain in his cheeks had dulled from laughing so hard. “Truth,” he said when Mikael asked him. 

Mikael smirked. “What’s your biggest turn-on?”

Even sighed and rolled his eyes. It was a set-up. Even and Mikael had had this talk before. It was on a night they’d both gotten very drunk, rambling to each other about anything and everything. And even though it didn’t reference him specifically, Even felt as if his answer would assuredly pique Mutta’s—and maybe’s Isak’s—interest. 

“Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Mikael confirmed. 

Even shook his head, trying to play it off. “Long legs,” he said, keeping his eyes very much away from Isak’s.

Magnus held up a hand for Even to slap. “Nice.” Even smiled, giving Magnus a high five. 

“Guess I’m the only one left,” Aleksander said. He’d been quiet the entire night, observing more than anything. But Even had paid attention to him, too intrigued by this boy that supposedly wanted Isak as his own (or didn’t, according to Isak). He studied him the way he would a film, dissecting all the bits and pieces that worked with and against Isak. 

And after all his inspection, Even was still unsure about this enigma named Aleksander.

“I choose dare, by the way.” He smirked.

“Alright.” Even shook off the bad feeling he got from that arrogant tilt to his mouth and pursed his own lips in thought. The stack of cards Mutta and Yousef had been rifling through earlier that night caught his eye. “Pick one of those cards and do whatever it says on the back.”

Aleksander shrugged lazily and got on his hands and knees to lean forward. He plucked a card from the middle and read it out loud, chuckling through his words. “Chug the rest of your drink and then use the glass or bottle to play one round of ‘Spin the Bottle.’”

Chris whistled. “ _Nice_.”

“You better hope it’s not me,” Mahdi joked. “I had garlic bread for dinner.”

Aleksander smiled and said, “Ah, I wouldn’t mind.” Then he threw back his beer, shaking it above his open mouth until all that was left was the odd droplet. He set it to the floor, twisted his wrist, and watched it spin. The glass made a sharp unpleasant sound against the hardwood, and almost everyone watched with varying degrees of interest. 

Even watched Isak. He couldn’t help it. Right across from him was the object of his guilt and, if Thursday night was anything to go by, his apparently lingering desire. This boy who had pressed his lips against Even’s and grinded against him. Who lived in his recent thoughts, desires, and dreams. Who, before a few weeks ago, was nothing but a faint but lingering fascination for Even. And now—

“Ow, ow!” someone howled. Someone else joined in, and then another.

Even’s eyes fell to the bottle. He’d been so consumed by Isak that he hadn’t noticed the bottle had landed on him, pointing directly at him as if he were true north. Something inside his chest tightened as Isak’s and Aleksander’s eyes met. 

“You cool with this?” Aleksander’s voice was quieter than the chaos his bottle spin had created. But Even heard; Even was paying attention.

It seemed Magnus had too. “No hesitation. That’s the rules!”

Isak rolled his eyes for the umpteenth time at his friend, then looked back at Aleksander. He did a tiny, quick shrug. “It’s fine.”

The chorus of bellowing cheers grew louder at Isak’s answer, but Even was transfixed by the scene in front of him. Aleksander got on his hands and knees, and Even’s stomach rolled. Aleksander crawled across the floor, knocking the bottle out of the way, and Even’s mouth tightened. Aleksander playfully flicked the brim of Isak’s snapback so it pushed farther back on his curls, and Even’s palms grew clammy. 

Aleksander leaned in. Even couldn’t see the kiss happen because of the way he was positioned, almost in a direct line behind Aleksander, but he could imagine how it looked judging by the taunting cheers that erupted around them like confetti. Even sat statue still as his friends laughed and catcalled and hooted around him. But his heart was thundering fiercely, too fast, and it was like fragments of his body had been pulled apart and put back together so he was disjointed and disoriented.

And then… The move was so minute, so muted, especially against the ruckus exploding around them all, that Even almost didn’t notice it. If he’d been looking at Aleksander’s neck or back or anywhere else, he probably would have missed it entirely. But he’d been focused on the back of his head where his brown hair was messy with a cowlick, wondering if Aleksander’s lips looked the same way on Isak’s as Even’s had. 

And then Even registered the movement—minute, muted, tiny. Something no one else had seemed to notice. 

Just above Aleksander’s left shoulder, where he could see the tilt of Isak’s head, two eyes—green bottle glass—were open. And looking straight at Even.


	4. Moonbeam from Lightning

“Even?”

Even startled at the sound of a female voice and glanced up. 

The campus cafe was flooded with light, faintly muted as it strained through the stiff blue curtains shadowing half the windows. The room was buzzing with noise: the babble from the two dozen or so students and professors waiting in line and occupying the tables; the clatter of the various machines working through orders; the faded _whoosh_ of the strong wind outside. A cloud of brewed coffee, sugar, and sunlight choked the air. 

Astrid stood before him, feet planted shoulder-width apart and her arms crossed over her chest. She looked down on him with a red lacquered smile and blue eyes that were almost silver. She was clearly waiting, and not exactly patiently judging by the quick upward flick of her brows. Men didn’t often keep Astrid waiting. 

“Astrid,” he said uselessly as he sat forward in the velvet club chair he’d been slouched in only moments ago. “Hey.”

He hadn’t seen Astrid since the night of Sonja’s going away party. Astrid and Sonja had been close all throughout university. But there was always something strange that tinted their relationship. A mixture of competitiveness and concealed envy that Even had never experienced in his own friendships. On the brightest of days, they were best friends; and on the worst, they were frenemies. 

Astrid and Sonja had shared everything: clothes, smiles, makeup, secrets. The biggest fight Even had ever seen them in had occurred the previous year. Sonja had gone on a date with the boy Astrid liked, and the two didn’t speak for weeks. It took a drunk rekindling for them to finally even look at one another without venom in their eyes, and even then it hadn’t been the same. It was a friendship Even had never understood.

Astrid cut her eyes down at the empty chair across from him and pointed a long black witch’s nail. “Are you expecting anyone?”

 _Great_ , he thought uncharitably. “No,” he said and began pulling his papers that were strewn across the small coffee table into a haphazard pile on his own side. In the clearing he’d left her, Astrid set down a cup of coffee topped with a mountain of whipped cream and a weathered copy of _Sense and Sensibility_ that was curling at the edges.

When she was seated, silence fell upon them. Astrid sank back into the embrace of her chair and eyed him, looking at his neck, his cheeks, his lips, and finally his eyes. There was something careful in her scrutiny that instantly reminded him of Sonja. It made him tense, like he needed to self-police. 

But it wasn’t only the reminder of Sonja in Astrid that made him feel stiff, on guard. It was Astrid herself. Despite how long he’d known her, he had never been able to get a true read on her. She always managed to be too slippery to be completely genuine. It was the way she comported herself, almost like an actress. Everything was deliberate, a prop, a device—down to her eyes, which were lightened by a pair of silver-blue contacts. It was all suspiciously contrived and Even didn’t trust it nor know how to comprehend it. 

Those unsettling eyes were still trained on him. “How are you?” she eventually asked, when the silence had crept toward discomfort. “I haven’t seen you around at any of the parties.”

Even hid his frown. He found it strange that she had even been _looking_ for him. He and Astrid had never been friends. Only acquaintances by nature of their connection to Sonja. 

Still, he was polite, so he answered, “I’m good. What about you?”

“I can’t complain. One of my professors is looking into getting my paper published actually. He said I’d be the first student in the department to ever do so.” She shrugged in a mimicry of humility, but her winning smile gave it all away. She took half a moment’s pause. “So how are you dealing with Son being gone?”

Even took a sip of his cold latte to stall, to steal time. He thought about what his face was giving away, what his posture looked like, how he might answer. Who knew what she would report to Sonja. Who knew what conclusions she would make.

“As well as can be expected. Some days are harder than others.” It was the perfect answer. And not entirely untrue. 

Astrid’s red lips sharpened into a smile and she let out a soft huff of laughter that was tainted with derision. “Yeah.” She put her cup to her mouth and looked at him over the rim, silver-blue eyes glittering. “I heard about the fight you guys had.”

The polite smile he’d been wearing melted from his face like a popsicle in sunshine. Astrid instantly caught it, though her own smile stayed in place. Her tongue crept out to lick the whipped cream from her lips. 

“You know we don’t keep secrets from each other.”

Even made a noise of acknowledgement and stuffed his hand into his jacket pocket, feeling the bumpy face of his leather sketchbook. It was a grounding technique his therapist had taught him, and in this moment, he needed all the grounding he could get.

Astrid leaned forward, red hair spilling over her shoulders. “I think she’s having a hard time too,” she finally offered in a voice deliberately made soft and kind. “She misses you.” 

_She has quite a way of showing it_ , he thought unkindly. He’d spent the entire weekend chasing after Sonja through the phone—trying to mend the fence he’d apparently broken by trying to right his wrong—and Sonja had still yet to give him anything but a few measly texts. Breadcrumbs. He was positively starving.

Astrid continued before he could speak. “You know how Sonja is. She’s hardheaded and wants things done her way.” She snorted softly. “But you know that better than anyone. I mean, look at how long it took for her to actually agree to go out with you.”

Even held back a flinch. It was an old bruise she was pressing on, a bruise he’d touched too many times to count in the now seven months he’d been with Sonja. It didn’t make the pain any less severe though. He might have even pointed that out had he not been distracted by the person pushing through the cafe door.

Aleksander looked exactly the same in the daytime. He had the same bouncy, arrogant gait, swaggering like he was seven feet tall. His hair was capped by a black beanie; the brown sprigs that peeked out from under it were messy, thin. Nowhere near as endearing as Isak’s usually were, he couldn’t help but notice. And he was alone, Even realized with a strange kind of relief.

“Friend of yours?” Astrid asked, pulling him back in. Though she’d asked with a light tone, Even could tell she was displeased that she had lost his attention so easily. Her eyes were sharp.

Even shrugged. “Nah.” He aimed for casual, sinking back into his chair. “Just some dude I met at a party.”

Astrid hummed and took another look at Aleksander. “He’s cute,” she noted. When she turned around, she shared a smile with Even that was inexplicably conspiratorial. “But I prefer blondes.”

Even frowned. 

“Anyways, I’ve gotta head to class.” Astrid took one last pull from her cup and set it back on the table, the porcelain shivering as it settled into place. She picked up her book and slung her bag over her shoulder. “But hey, before I forget, I’m having a party at my apartment this weekend. You should come.”

There was almost no other place that he would rather _not_ be. If this conversation was any indication of what spending time with Astrid alone was like, he wanted to stay far away. “What day?” he asked. 

“Friday.”

“Fuck.” He feigned disappointment with his sharp curse and crumpled frown. “I actually already have plans that day. Sorry.”

“Bummer.” She studied his face with a red smile. “We’ll have to get together some other time then. This was really nice.”

“Sure.”

Her smile grew. “Soon then.” She raised her hand to flutter her fingers. “Bye, Even.”

Astrid’s departure gave him little relief. If anything, it left him feeling as tense as ever. Shoulders high, muscles stiff, temples aching, his mind rolling over. She liked to play games with words like she was fencing, and Even was unarmed. 

He was so distracted by the very uncanniness she left behind like an oil spill that he hadn’t even noticed that Aleksander was no longer anywhere to be seen. Even sighed, irritated with his own distracted mind. Faced with fresh cuts and an acrid aftertaste burning on his tongue, he gathered his things and headed for his own class. 

Even should have known that his day had been cursed. As if his day wasn’t enough of a cosmic joke already, he walked into the classroom to find Aleksander seated atop the desk that Isak worked at and Isak leaning back in his chair, looking up at him. The angle cut his jaw into a sharp curve. Both boys were holding coffee cups from the campus cafe. 

Even felt his face flush with equal parts surprise and irritation when he saw them. It was the third time in an hour that he’d been stunned and he hated the feeling. It was only made worse when, too caught up in his own agitation, Even wasn’t quick enough to wipe away his grimace as Aleksander and Isak looked over at him. 

Even ignored them, looking at the desks as he stepped through the rows to find his own seat. He forced himself to sit down casually and pull out his phone to occupy himself. He flicked through different people’s Instagrams, getting lost in their lives. But after a few minutes, he was thrust right back to reality when he saw Eva’s latest photo: a blurry shot of Isak and Aleksander kissing during “Truth or Dare” at the party. And when he saw that photo, he instantly thought of _that look_.

He spent all weekend trying to decipher that look. Tried to pick its bones apart to peer inside. Was it a coincidence, an accidental meeting of the eyes? Or was it Isak acknowledging that he was aware of Even’s constant staring problem—a confrontation of sorts? Or was it another message entirely?

He obsessed over that look like he apparently did all things Isak. He noticed that it was becoming a problem, one that took up the time of his days and the space in his mind. Even wasn’t sure how much he had left, or was willing, to give. 

But he knew it couldn’t keep going on like this. He was constantly on edge, constantly analyzing, constantly preoccupied. Even’s fascination with another person had never been so encompassing, and he wanted nothing more to dig it out by its roots to finally kill it. If only to ease the symptoms of Isak’s apparent power over him. 

Only...it seemed infallible. _He_ was infallible. And infuriating, time-consuming, perplexing, and lovely. Really, really lovely. 

Even pulled out his green sketchbook and searched for his most recent drawing to distract himself, a sketch of a dandelion bursting through cracked pavement. He smoothed his hand over the paper, feeling it glide under his palm. The black of its outline had faded, so Even traced it again, watching it become vibrant once more. 

When Isak laughed at something Aleksander had said, Even’s hand twitched and a stray black mark danced over the page. He stilled. Sighed. Clenched his jaw. Flipped the page. 

By the time the professor walked in, he’d drawn nothing but a mass of circular doodles that looked suspiciously like the brain fog he’d recently been plagued with. To his right, he heard Aleksander shifting off the desk and picking up his bag. He said something to Isak in a lilting voice and shuffled off. 

When he passed Even’s desk, Even looked up and they made brief eye contact. Aleksander lifted his chin in greeting—so, so confident—and swaggered out of the room, leaving behind a trail of sharp cologne that just irritated Even even more. 

He didn’t pay attention for the entire lesson. _Couldn’t_. His brain shifted through a cycle of things to think on: Sonja was only half-speaking to him, ignoring his calls but answering some of his texts; Aleksander’s arrogant presence and how he seemed to take up too much room; his mostly innocent but largely unsettling conversation with Astrid; and Isak himself, a puzzle with a piece missing, seemingly forever unsolved.

When class ended, Even was itching to leave campus behind and go home. Thankfully, he hadn’t taken any notes, so he was able to grab the strap of his bag and stride out of the classroom, each step outside of its bounds snipping away another piece of stress until he could shake his shoulders free. 

The tram was full when he entered, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. It was enough that he could just stand amongst strangers, swaying with the movement of the car, and not be physically confronted by any of the problems that buzzed around in his mind.

When he got back to the apartment, everything was dim with shadow. The only light was offered through the navy and violet twilight outside that was framed prettily by their bay window. The apartment was still, quiet.

“Hello!” Even called out. When he was greeted only with silence, he shut the door behind him and slipped off his shoes. While usually he was struck with the distinct alienness that came from stepping into their empty apartment alone, knowing Mikael wasn’t in his bedroom watching a film or in the kitchen making a mess, today was different. He reveled in the calm that embraced him. 

Even turned on their speakers and hooked up his phone, picking something deep and slow to fill their place. He shed his jean jacket and threw it over the arm of their couch, then flicked on the side lamp so the living room was soft with an amber glow.

In the kitchen, he found a beer in the fridge and drained half of it before pulling out pots and pans to make dinner. He filled a large pot with water and set it on the stove, twisting the heat up high. He took another swallow of his beer, his stomach becoming warm with it, and searched for the pasta sauce he’d hidden from Mikael. 

It took a few minutes to remember that he’d stashed it behind an old box of rice cakes. “Aha!” He reached back into their cupboard and blindly felt for the glass jar. 

He almost didn’t make out the knock at the door over the music and the scrape of the glass against the cabinet shelf. Even stilled, frowned, leaned out of the kitchen entryway to watch the door. It was only a few moments later that there was another knock—firmer, more confident.

Even set down the pasta sauce. On the way to the door, he turned down the volume on his music so that all that could be heard was the faint beat of the song. When he finally opened the door, Even got his fourth surprise of the day. 

Isak seemed nearly as surprised to see Even. His eyes were green stained glass in the amber light leaking out of the doorway, and they were round, wide. Lovely. The black snapback he’d been wearing in class was gone, leaving his wavy hair fluffy. It was unbearably endearing. 

Even didn’t want to be endeared. Not by him. 

“Hi?” he said uncertainly.

“Hey.” Isak’s voice was almost hoarse, and the rasp made Even stand up straighter. He felt as if a steel rod had been shoved down his spine.

He waited for Isak to say something else, to _do_ something else. But when it became clear that he would only stand there, shifting uncomfortably in Even’s doorway, eyes never staying in one place, Even spoke. “What are you doing here?”

Isak turned those green moon eyes back on him and Even was entranced by their beauty. The twilight shadows deepened the hollows of his cheeks so that his cheekbones were sharp as ice. His skin was honey-gold and his curls were burnished, tipped with something lighter. As much as he hated to admit it, even if only to himself, Isak’s was the type of beauty that never went out of style. 

Isak took a breath as if to gather courage, lips parting. Any other time, Even might have been distracted by the movement. But somewhere in the background, he registered a strange fizzing noise. Like the air being let out of a tire or a cauldron bubbling. For half a second, he was confused. And then it clicked. 

“Shit!” Isak startled at Even’s curse. Even turned and ran toward the kitchen, and yelled over his shoulder, “Just come in!”

In the kitchen, his pot was boiling angrily. The water was a simmering silver, popping bubbles and sending a small wave of hot water over the rim of the pot and onto the stove where it splashed with a hiss. Even turned off the heat, grabbed a dishrag to pull the pot off the red eye, and then tried to mop up the spill with the rag. 

In his periphery, he could make out Isak lingering in the kitchen archway. He cast a brief look at him, suddenly struck by the realization that he’d never seen Isak in his apartment before and didn’t know how he’d found it.

But he couldn’t really afford to focus on that right that second. When most of the water had been wiped away and all that was left was a singed stove eye, Even threw the wet rag on the floor and sighed. “Sorry about that. I was about to make dinner and forgot about the water.”

Isak almost looked surprised to be directly addressed, even though there was no one else around. “No, no. It’s, um. It’s okay. I’m sorry for just dropping by. But I didn’t have your number.” Isak ducked his head, but it couldn’t hide the pink staining his cheeks. 

“Oh, yeah,” Even said awkwardly. He pursed his lips as he watched Isak fidget.

“I actually just came by to drop this—” Isak let his bookbag slide off his shoulder and sag to the ground before he began rummaging through it. The sound of loose papers crinkling and being shoved aside was like nails on a chalkboard. “This!” He pulled something out and stood up again. In his hand was Even’s little green sketchbook. 

Even’s heart thumped heavily and his throat grew tight. It took a second to really understand that Isak was holding his sketchbook. 

God, he was such a fucking idiot. How could he forget that? He’d never let anyone look in his sketchbook before. Though there was nothing lewd or incriminating within it, it held the images of his mind’s eye. And that was a type of intimacy he’d never shared with anyone else before. 

It made his skin itch to see that collection of images in the palm of the boy who wouldn’t leave his mind alone. There was a cruel sort of irony in the situation, he could grudgingly admit. 

“You left it behind today,” Isak explained in Even’s silence. “I figured it was important. I didn’t want someone to steal it.”

Even didn’t reach for it, even though he was yearning to rip it away and hide it. He was frozen where he stood, the lines of his body molded to the warm stove where he was leaning. He wasn’t even sure if he could move a muscle. 

“Did you look in it?” His own voice was smooth to his ears, somehow blocking out all the panic he felt inside. For once, he was proud of himself. It was the Even he liked: cool, calm, confident. At least on the outside.

Isak glanced up sharply. “Huh? No, of course not.”

It was in the vehemence with which he denied it. The deliberate, steady eye contact. The set jaw. The little one-shoulder shrug. Even didn’t know Isak very well, but he knew enough.

He let out a light huff of laughter that was in half disbelief and half humor. “You’re a bad liar.”

Isak blinked. “Me?” At Even’s cocked brow, Isak folded easily. “Well, I mean, I only looked at a couple of drawings. Just to make sure it was yours.”

Even narrowed his eyes. “I thought you knew it was mine when I left it behind.”

“Yeah, well.” Another small shrug and the neck of Isak’s shirt gaped. The skin of his collar bones was the same honey pale as his face. “You can never be sure.”

Even took a few moments to breathe. To let his heart settle into a beat more manageable than the race it had been running since he opened his door to see Isak’s face. Then he pushed off the stove, leading with his hips. He stretched his arm out and waited. Isak’s eyes were glued to his palm, his fingers. “Thank you. For bringing it all the way here.”

Isak placed the book into his hand, careful not to touch skin. “Sure, no problem.” There was a moment of silence between them that was too long to be comfortable. “I’m just—” He jutted his thumb behind him toward the door. “Gonna go.”

He grabbed his backpack, leaving its mouth wide open, and walked to the door. Even followed and leaned against the wall of the hallway with folded arms, watching as Isak touched the doorknob and stilled. His broad shoulder shifted.

“Actually,” he said, half-turning back. His eyes couldn’t find Even’s. “I wanted to say that I’m sorry.”

Even raised his brows. Suddenly he could hear the blood rushing in his ears like waves crashing on the beach. What was he going to apologize for? Was it for looking in his sketchbook? For kissing him at the club? For looking at him like that with his lips on someone else? For taking up so much space in his mind that he was nearly going crazy with it? 

Isak ducked his chin like he was embarrassed. He rubbed a fist against his cheek and it was painfully sweet. Isak looked up at him, eyes dancing all across Even’s face. His lips parted, moved as if Isak was going to speak. 

“I’m sorry. For what I said. That day. With, um, Elias.”

Even the low beat of the music still playing couldn’t mask the sound of Even’s frantic heartbeat. He was taken aback. Shocked. The last thing he ever expected to hear out of Isak’s mouth was an apology—much less one that acknowledged the very thing that had put Even off him to begin with. 

“I could give you an excuse,” Isak said, “but you don’t deserve excuses. Just know that…” He shrugged his shoulders and kept them high, as if they could shield him. “I’m sorry. And yeah, that’s what I wanted to say. So...later.”

He turned his back on Even quicker than Even anticipated. His hand closed around the doorknob once more, long fingers encasing it easily. He twisted the knob and pulled open the door. 

“What’s the excuse?”

At the sound of Even’s question, Isak stilled. Pivoted on his heel and tilted his head like a confused puppy. 

Even tried hard not to be taken by the move. “Just for the fun of it.” He made his voice light, bouncy, inviting. “What was your excuse?”

“Really?” Isak looked like he couldn’t believe it.

“Really,” Even confirmed.

Isak licked his lips, pink tongue sneaking out briefly. Something sizzled in Even’s belly. It took Isak more than a few moments to gather himself. He shut the door, released the knob, and turned to face Even fully. He swallowed, bit at the inside of his cheek, and finally glanced up through his lashes.

“My mom is super religious,” he opened with, taking Even by surprise. “I went to church with her a lot growing up. And yeah. I grew up knowing what the Bible said about, um, gay people.” He took in a shuddering breath. “Because of that, I had a hard time admitting to myself that I...that I like guys.”

Isak’s eyes fell, and Even expected that to be it, but he continued. “When I met you that day, I was still hiding who I was. I was really scared of someone finding out. And then that girl came over talking about the Pride Club and Elias made that dumb joke. I thought that if I distanced myself from that, no one would suspect. Him especially. It— It doesn’t make up for what I said. But maybe it helps explain why I said that. So, yeah...I’m sorry for that.”

Even opened his mouth to speak before he knew what he was going to say. “Apology accepted.”

Isak looked up, surprised. He blinked those lovely eyes several times, as if coming to terms with what he’d heard and then his face softened into a faint, grateful smile. A few long moments went by and then Isak asked, “That’s why you don’t like me, right?”

Even’s brows went up. He should have learned by that point to be comfortable with being surprised by Isak. But he hadn’t been expecting to be confronted by him—Isak, who never confronted anyone, except for maybe Magnus.

Before Even could say anything, Isak spoke. “It’s okay. I understand. It was a dick thing to do. I don’t blame you, really.”

It was as if the entire time that Even had known Isak was wiped clean. Almost. All at once, he felt guilty for harboring such anger, despite not knowing the truth, and a desire to extend an olive branch. “Maybe we can start over.” Even wasn’t even sure if that was possible, given their history, both past and recent. 

“Start over?” Isak seemed confused.

“Yeah.” Even stepped closer and reached out his hand. He only felt a little silly. “Hi, I’m Even.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Even confirmed, and then, because he couldn’t help but tease, “that’s the name my mother gave me.”

Isak rolled his eyes instantly, but there was a small smile that tilted his lips. After a few moments of staring at Even’s outstretched hand, he reached out and put his own hand in Even’s. The feeling of their palms gliding together made Even’s belly quiver, but he ignored it. 

“I’m Isak.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Isak.” They shook once, twice, and then their hands fell apart. 

Isak’s shy smile had stayed in place. He readjusted his bag so it sat higher on his shoulder and pulled open the door again. When he looked back at Even, there was mischief in his eyes. Something he’d never seen directed at him by Isak before. It was a little bit cute and a lot thrilling.

Isak smirked and adopted a face of faux confusion. “Eivend, you said?” 

Even blinked in surprise, trying to hide the way his smile was spreading wide at the play. “Even,” he corrected.

“Ah. Even,” he sounded out, hitting that _n_ sound with his tongue the way Even liked. “I’ll remember it.”

The smile broke out. He huffed a laugh. “You do that.”

Isak nodded, almost smiling to himself. Then he glanced up one last time, stained glass eyes shining. “Bye, Even.”

“Bye, Isak.”

Isak slipped out the door, his honey-gold presence disappearing into the shadows of the stairwell. Even closed the door behind him too many minutes later and went back to making dinner alone.

He found that the smile stayed on his face for the rest of the night.


	5. I Will Indulge the Other

“Bro, do you even go to class?”

The pencil Mikael was holding slipped out of his fingers and clattered to the tabletop, hopping from one end to the other before it shook to silence. Mikael twisted in his chair to narrow his dark eyes at Elias. “ _Yes_. Don’t be a douchebag.”

“Well, shit, Mik. If you’re doing this badly and you actually _go_ to class…” Elias ran out of words, blinking slowly. He shook his head and leaned back over Mikael, looking over the assignment. “How did you even get into college?”

Mikael blindly swatted at Elias’ face. “Fuck you. I’m not a math major.”

“Frankly,” Elias said, still dodging Mikael’s attempts, “I don’t know how you even got to be a _film_ major. This is just pathetic.”

Mutta leaned out of the kitchen to point a spatula at Mikael. He had a smear of flour on his cheek, stark pale against bronze skin, that made it hard to take him seriously. “This is why you shouldn’t have put off taking this class until your senior year. How many times did your advisor tell you to get it over with?”

Mikael threw his hands up in exasperation. “Well, how was I supposed to know that I’m apparently innumerate?”

“I knew,” Mutta replied.

“So did I,” Even agreed without looking up from his phone.

“Shut up, the both of you.” Mikael picked his pencil back up and began violently erasing the scribbled mess of numbers on his paper. A small pink hill of shavings instantly appeared before him. He pulled in a deep breath and blew it out sharply, sending the shavings flying like confetti. 

“You’re cleaning that up,” Adam told him, only sparing a quick side glance at the mess Mikael had made. He jerked the video game controller in his hand as the screen lit up in vibrant colors and exploded with noise. Then he chimed in lazily and a second too late: “Also, a dildo could do better math than you.”

“You would know,” Mikael threw back, sweeping stray shavings from the table with the side of his hand. 

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“You don’t make sense.”

Even chuckled from where he was lounging on the couch. He’d heard this type of childish banter for years and it never failed to entertain him. 

“Laugh it up, Einstein.” Mikael turned his sharp eyes and sharp words on Even. “I saw your grades in stats last year.”

Even briefly held his hands up in surrender but returned to his phone. He didn’t even bother coming up with a retort. After all, only half his attention was being paid to Mikael and his numerical shortcomings. The other half was—sadly, worthlessly, shamefully—being spent thumbing through Sonja’s Instagram account. 

He wasn’t even sure what he was looking for, or if he was indeed searching it all. It was more a habit to find her profile than anything. A compulsion really. And each time he indulged in that compulsion, he was rewarded with the same disappointment. 

Sonja was happy. Even was struggling and Sonja was not, and it was that discrepancy that probably hurt the worst. It was also what made him such a bad person. 

Even seemed to have a perpetual grey cloud chasing after him, day after day, while Sonja’s photos were blinding sunshine and too blue skies, her smile plastered everywhere. And while that should have made Even smile too, should have given him even an inkling of secondhand happiness, all he felt was agitated. Some deep, ugly part of him wanted her to have a hard time too. To miss home, to miss _him_. To actually want him again. 

At the heart of it all, that’s what he wanted—to feel wanted. He ached to have someone want him while he wanted them right back. The thrill of reciprocity in passion. He missed touching, looking, feeling. He missed everything that had come with having Sonja—with having a relationship that wasn’t tormented by long distance and “arrangements”—and now that she was gone, the desire for that had only amplified.

Even swiped out of Instagram and went to his and Sonja’s texts, and sent a quick message before he could overthink it: _Good morning_.

He’d barely set the phone down before it began buzzing wildly. Sonja’s smiling face filled his screen and Even half wondered if he had somehow willed her to call him. Nevertheless, he scrambled to his feet and climbed over Adam’s legs, eager to answer. 

“Hey, where are you going?” Mikael called after him. 

“Phone call,” Even said. “Worry about your math.”

He slipped out the front door, pulled it closed behind him, and pressed _Accept_.

“Hey,” he answered almost uncertainly, as if he didn’t know how to greet her anymore. It wasn’t the type of feeling he was used to with her. Theirs was a type of comfort that came with knowing everything about someone. Yet here he was, feeling sick to his stomach with nerves. 

“Hey,” she said back. She didn’t sound uncertain at all—only careful. He’d heard this tone before: in fights when she thought he was being unreasonable and when they talked about his bipolar. 

A few moments passed by in complete silence, wherein neither one seemed to know how, or even want, to begin the conversation. It was painfully awkward, so much so that there was a part of him, however miniscule it was, that yearned to hang up the phone and avoid what was about to happen for just a little while longer. 

But Even realized how rare this type of direct contact had been over the last week and the question burst out of his mouth like a bullet. “Why haven’t you been answering my calls?”

The harsh breath Sonja blew out told him she’d been expecting this question, but she wasn’t happy about having to answer it. But she did nonetheless. “I was upset and I needed some time to think.”

“Think?”

“Yes, Even.” She said his name like a mother would say their child’s and it was like taking the edge of a serrated knife to his nerves. “ _Think_.”

The simplicity of such an answer angered him more than anything. It wasn’t that simple—or at least it shouldn’t have been. It surely wasn’t for Even. “And you think it’s okay to just ignore me?”

“I didn’t ignore you. I texted back.”

He rolled his eyes. It felt good to do it, no matter if she couldn’t see it. “Not answering a call and not calling back sounds like ignoring to me.”

“Even.” The name sounded like a curse on her tongue. “Sometimes you’re just too much. Like… I don’t know. You just need to give me space when I ask for it.”

“What about the things I ask for?” 

“You can’t force someone to talk before they’re ready,” she told him.

“I get that. But…” He knew the type of reserved tone he needed to use so as not to irritate her further, but he didn’t have the energy to put it on that day. For days, he’d been worried, upset, and obsessive, agonizing over their last phone call and all the measly texts that followed it. And he’d been unable to share those feelings with his girlfriend, who felt like more a stranger than a partner lately. He deserved the ability to share his feelings; and she deserved to _hear_ about them.

“God, Sonja, I’ve been stressed out about this shit all weekend.”

“And I’m sorry for that,” she said in a placating tone that was more condescending than calming, “but you aren’t the only one.”

For a moment, there was a glimmer of hope. “Why are you stressed?”

She laughed humorlessly, a mean sound he’d heard a time or two. He knew the glimmer was dead before she spoke. “It’s like I’m having to live two lives, Even. And you’re calling me all the time. Why wouldn’t I be stressed?”

“Is that why you’ve been acting so different?”

“I haven’t been acting differently.”

“Yes,” he assured her, “you have. You’re short and cold. You’re never happy to talk to me. And when we do talk, you’re always rushing off.”

“Maybe that’s because you’re always trying to start something.”

Even groaned loudly. “Don’t blame it on that. You were acting like this even before our fight.”

She latched on to the slight change of subject like a flea on rotting meat. “Speaking of which, you’re trying to fuck up everything we agreed on.”

“I’m not trying to fuck it up!” There was a pressure building behind his eyes and a rattle to his vision. He rubbed his hand down his face and wished that everything was back to normal. That he’d never agreed to this arrangement. That she had never left. 

“Yes, you were!” Sonja shouted back, slapping him full in the face with his reality. 

He was angry. So fucking angry and upset and sad. Lonely. And there was also some part of him that was suspicious of her too, of that _one photo_ she’d posted that had barely left his mind’s eye. And it was because of that that he asked—accused—her of what he did next: “Well, have you done something that you don’t want me to find out about?”

“Even!” she said in the sharpest voice he’d ever heard her use. It was a splash of cold water in a fresh wound. “No wonder I don’t want to talk to you. Look at what you do.”

He deflated instantly, squeezing his eyes shut. “I’m sorry.”

She took a long, calming breath. “I need you to just give me a few days to myself. That’s all I’m asking. No texts, no calls, nothing. Just a few days without you breathing down my neck so I can calm down and we can get back to normal.”

The tears were in his throat now, burning their way up. “Breathing down your neck, huh? Is that how you think of me—as a nuisance?” 

“That’s not how I meant it.”

He chuckled sarcastically. A tear sprung to his eye, but he tried desperately to hold it back. He didn’t want to cry over her—not like this. “Yeah, whatever.”

They sat in silence, listening only to each other’s ragged breaths and the noises of the worlds around them—hers in California, his in Oslo, two completely separate realities unstitched. After a while, Even accepted that there was going to be no new ground gained with her. Not at that moment and not on that day.

“You can have your few days,” he told her. And before she could reply and possibly crack his heart even further, he hung up, enjoying for once that he held the power. 

That joy was short-lived, melting away like water in a desert. Instead, all he was left with was the confirmation that Sonja didn’t need him. And didn’t really want him either. And that hurt. That hurt quite a bit. All at once, he was some old toy to her, living only to be neglected and tossed aside. Possibly even for something, or someone, newer and shinier. 

Even slipped back inside the apartment, but he instantly wished he hadn’t. It was dead silent, all signs of activity ceased, paused, or completely abandoned. And all the eyes that had been trained on the door were scrambling to look elsewhere, dropping guiltily. 

“So, you round the last number,” Elias tried, pointing somewhere on Mikael’s sheet. 

Even wasn’t in the mood to pretend that everything was okay. He went to grab his bag and shoveled in his own loose papers, ignoring the eyes he felt on him like a physical touch. 

“What are you doing?” Mutta asked in a low voice. Worry was written all over his face. 

“I think I’m gonna head home.”

“Do you want me to go with you?” Mikael asked. He sat straight, ready, bending down to touch his own bag.

“No.” Even zipped up his backpack and hooked it over one shoulder. “You stay. I’m just gonna go rest.”

They all understood what he meant. Since Sonja had left, he’d been “resting” more and more. 

“You sure?” Mutta pressed. “It’s a nice night. I wouldn’t mind walking with you.”

“Thanks. But I think I want to be alone right now.” And before anyone could offer again or attempt to persuade him until he caved, he said, “I’ll see you guys later.”

The walk home was a waste of the beautiful night. The air had cooled considerably, leaving Even clutching at the sleeves of his soft hoodie. It was chilly, but not cold, and the sky was sprinkled with silver starlight. It was Even’s favorite type of night. And he was wasting it by wallowing in his own misery. 

Sometimes, when it all got to be too much, he wondered if being without Sonja would be better. And truly without her—no ties left to bind them together. Would he be happier, lighter, more like himself? 

But when he lingered too long on those thoughts, he panicked and pulled away from them. Sometimes he liked to run away from his problems; other times he tended to hold on to them too tight, leaving him a contradictory mess who couldn’t make up his mind to save himself the pain and suffering. 

He loved Sonja. He’d chased after her for so long, she’d almost been a dream. And maybe at one point in time, she might’ve been one of his closest friends. But now she was neither. She was a reality—oftentimes a cold one to bear—and she didn’t want to be his friend nor, as seemed increasingly likely, even his lover. 

Even didn’t know _what_ she wanted out of him anymore.

When he got to his apartment, he climbed into bed without showering, not sparing a single thought about his sheets or the smell of his skin. All he yearned for was the soft comfort of his bed against the ache of his chest. And maybe a little bit for Sonja too.

* * *

Though he wanted to spend the next few days tucked in bed, Even knew he couldn’t give in to that urge. It was too dangerous and slippery a path. So, against all desires, he forced himself to leave the warmth of his pillows and blankets behind in order to attend to life. 

He showered and ate meals. He went to his classes, listened to lectures, and took notes. He did homework and painted and watched television and read. He did everything he was supposed to do, all while turning down the boys’ attempts at talking about what had happened. He barely even engaged when Mikael repeatedly shoved his phone under his nose and asked for verdicts on Tinder matches.

That very first day after, Even was just sad. He wasn’t used to a day going by where he didn’t hear Sonja’s voice or see her words onscreen. Even when they had been only friends, they’d still talked to one another. And they’d never had a prolonged fight quite like this in all their time dating. 

So he got through the hours burning through his hobbies and responsibilities and going back to the newest Instagram photo Sonja posted of herself and a group of people, some of which he recognized as her coworkers and roommates. She was smiling like sunshine personified. She’d never looked happier. 

Half a dozen text drafts sat unsent in his phone. He wanted to message her, but he knew it would do nothing but antagonize her. Push her even further away than he apparently already had. 

On the second day, the disbelief set in. And the romantic comedies he watched tucked into the corner of the couch certainly didn’t help. He wanted what the characters on film had. Mutual, hair-raising passion. Constant desire. And explosive love, yes, but not the kind that was tainted by the infrequency that he and Sonja always seemed to fall victim to. 

Why couldn’t it be easy for them? They loved each other. Why couldn’t that be it? He wanted to be happy and horny and desired and desirous and all the things that came with a great love. And Sonja was preventing him from having that by withholding all that he craved. 

And he was pissed.

The third day, Friday, was a type of acceptance. He’d spent three nights seeping in his sadness and anger, and by the dawn of the third day, he was eager to be around people who wanted him back. People who not only loved him, but liked him too. 

When the sun began to set, spitting streaks of rosy red and topaz across the sky, Even left his cave of solace. He made himself a sandwich to quiet his bubbling belly and found Mikael in his bathroom, shoving his fingers through his damp hair. He was wearing a nice shirt and dark jeans and he smelled of Even’s expensive cologne. 

Even leaned his shoulder against the doorframe. “Hot date?”

Mikael smirked. “As a matter of fact I do. With that girl I showed you yesterday. From Tinder.”

There had been dozens. “Which one?”

“The blonde one.”

“Oh, that one,” Even said sarcastically.

Mikael rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to acknowledge that tone.”

“You just did,” he pointed out. 

“Quit being a difficult bastard and help me. I tried using your product, but it’s fucking useless.”

Even sighed, stuffed the last bite of sandwich in his mouth, and turned Mikael to face him. The product sat chunky white at Mikael’s dark roots, so Even wet his hands—making sure to flick a few droplets at Mikael’s face—and began to work his fingers through Mikael’s hair. 

“This is what you get for stealing my shit,” Even told him when his fingers caught on a tangle. 

Mikael flinched. “I didn’t steal. I used it. Big difference. Plus, with the way that you’re obsessed with your own head, I’d be stupid not to raid your supply.”

“I should stop helping you.”

Mikael snorted. “Maybe so. But you won’t.”

When Even was done, he stepped back and admired his work with a nod. “Now you’ll need to blowdry it.”

While Mikael dug under the sink for the blowdryer, shoving aside empty boxes and old bottles, Even sighed deep and long. “I was gonna ask you to go do something tonight.”

“Why,” Mikael asked, still digging, “because you’re finally done moping?”

“I wasn’t moping.” He absolutely had been, but the appeal of denial was too strong to ignore. 

“You kind of were. But you deserved the chance to. I didn’t get to hear Sonja’s side of that phone conversation, but I didn’t really need to.”

When Even didn’t reply, Mikael paused his search and eyed him curiously. “You’re not going to berate me?”

“Berate you?”

“Uh, _yeah_. Any time I even imply that Sonja is in the wrong, you either come to her defense or tell me I’m wrong. Or both.”

Even shrugged. The full force of his anger was almost gone, but there was still a tiny red flare lingering in the back of his mind. “Maybe this time I agree with you.”

Mikael’s brows jumped up. “Wow. Never thought I’d see the day.” He considered Even. “Do you want to talk about what happened?”

“Not really,” Even said honestly. “I’m actually kind of sick of thinking about my shitty relationship problems at this point. It’s all I’ve been doing for the past few days. I just want to think about something else tonight.”

Mikael smiled and went back to his search. “Good for you. I’m proud of you.”

Even couldn’t resist the chance to tease. “If you were really proud of me, you wouldn’t be ditching me tonight.”

Mikael made an “aha!” noise and pulled the blowdryer out, making as much noise as possible as he disentangled it from the bowels of the cabinet. “I love you dearly,” he told Even, “and you’re my best friend in the entire world, but I need to get laid.”

Even swallowed a pained sigh. He was dying for that too—naked skin, wet lips, rushing blood, sweat, smiles in the heat of the moment. He may have been upset with Sonja, but it didn’t stop the memories of Sonja beneath him and on top of him from swarming his brain. It also didn’t stop the memory of white shorts riding up Isak’s spread thighs. 

“Do you know what Elias is up to?” Even blurted out, desperate to rush past that last thought. 

“Coming out with me.” At Even’s look of confusion, Mikael explained: “Double date. Emily’s bringing a friend.”

“Maybe I’ll call Yousef then.”

Mikael fought the tangle of wire and shoved the plug into the socket. “He’s going to the Bakkoush house for dinner with Sana and the parents.”

“Fine then. I’ll go over to Mutta and Adam’s.”

“If you bothered checking the group chat Mutta started on Wednesday, you’d know they were going out with Jonas and the boys to some hookah bar tonight.”

Even groaned and let his head thunk against the doorframe. “What the hell, am I the only one without plans tonight?”

“No,” Mikael said, “Isak doesn’t either.”

Even’s heart jumped. “Uh.” He cleared his throat. “How do you know that?”

Mikael didn’t look up from where he was fidgeting with the switches on the side of the blowdryer. “Only Jonas, Magnus, and Mahdi said they were going with Mutta and Adam. No mention of Isak.”

Even made a short humming sound. “Interesting.”

Mikael’s eyes flicked up and met Even’s in the mirror. “Super interesting.”

Even rolled his eyes and pushed off the doorframe. “Blowdry your hair before it gets greasy.”

As he wandered back toward his own bedroom, he pulled out his phone and scrolled through the groupchat. Just like Mikael had said, most of the boys had plans. All but Isak. Or at least that was what he could assume given that Isak hadn’t answered at all. 

He’d only barely given in to the disappointment that he’d never gotten Isak’s number when he realized it was right there for the taking. Mutta had included all the boys in the group chat—all of them. And when Even clicked on the dropdown list, there he was. Isak: a random set of numbers unsaved, but ready for Even to use if he wanted to. 

Even thought about the last time they’d really spoken, that day Isak had shown up at his apartment. The teasing remarks they’d traded, the way Isak’s face had eased into something carefully playful. How attractive that mischief had been. How exciting it was. How even thinking of it made his skin begin to feel tight with anticipation. 

Even clicked the number and opened up a new message. His heartbeat was an anxious snare drum trilling a galloping beat. His thumbs hovered indecisively over the keyboard. Surely there was nothing wrong with wanting to be in Isak’s presence again. He was a fascinating person after all. And that excitement was natural—encouraged even. At least according to Sonja’s rules. 

“Just do it,” he whispered to himself. 

_Hey, it’s Eivend_ , he typed out. Sent. 

He dropped the phone on the bed before he could see if it had delivered, if Isak was typing back, if he had even already replied. Even went to his speaker and turned his music on and then picked up a thick paintbrush from one of his many jars, twirling it around his fingers, feeling the smooth wood against his skin. He studied the blank canvas sitting on his easel, hoping for some inspiration to bloom in his mind. An image, a slice of a thought, a color—anything that would make him want to dip his brush into paint and spread it across the blank plain. 

Nothing was in his mind except for his phone and Isak.

Even dropped the paintbrush back in its jar with a sharp clang and flopped down on his bed. When he flipped his phone over, the screen came to life. One new message was waiting for him. His heart beat heavy in his ears as he typed in his passcode, failed, and then typed it in again. 

Isak’s text was definitely not anything to get excited over, and yet Even felt it spike in his chest. 

_hahaha hey_ , it read. Cute, a little bit unsure perhaps. 

Even pulled in his bottom lip, ran his teeth over it until it became sore and pulsed back to life. Then he typed. _What are you doing?_

Barely half a minute had gone by before Isak answered: _chilling at home, what about you?_

This was the point wherein Even had to make a real decision. He could answer identically and allow the conversation to peter out naturally. If his random texting was brought up when he saw Isak again in class, Even could blame it on sheer boredom or argue that it was his attempt at “starting over.”

Or he could take a risk. Make an effort. Lean in to the urge that drew him to Isak time and time again, even if only in thought. He could toe that line that only he seemed to find unsettling. 

His thumbs moved quickly: _Wanna work on our project?_

It was a coward’s attempt, but an attempt nonetheless. He could hardly be ashamed of it though. If it got him what he wanted whilst simultaneously protecting him, well… 

He watched the screen with almost preternatural focus. The bubbles popped up for a few moments then disappeared. They stayed gone for a long time—a minute or two of prolonged anxiety that made Even wonder if he shouldn’t have just ended the conversation as soon as he had begun it. 

When the bubbles appeared again, he felt the cold flash of sweat breaking out on his palms. _Sure_ , Isak had typed, _wanna work here?_

Even let out a shaky laugh of disbelief. It almost seemed too easy. Only a few hours ago, he’d decided that he didn’t want to wallow in his bed anymore, and now he was going to Isak’s. Possibly going to Isak’s.

There was something about the prospect of seeing Isak, this boy who had confounded and fascinated for some time, in his own home. Even in his own bedroom. Even would be privy to the things with which Isak surrounded himself, even if only to a superficial extent. He’d see if his walls were bare or cluttered with posters or art. He’d see what color his sheets were and whether he slept with one pillow or two. He’d see what kind of face Isak put on when he was just meant to be himself. 

Even was painfully curious and he wanted to find out every answer to the questions that were swarming like a hive of bees inside his head.

Definitely going to Isak’s. _What’s the address_ , he sent before throwing the phone aside. 

He stood up with renewed energy, almost high with the liquid feeling spreading through his body. It felt good, this kind of excitement. He hadn’t felt it in a long time. It was the kind of anticipation he felt when he wasn’t sure what awaited him, when something was new and surprising and could go terribly wrong or incredibly right. Like that first day he’d met Isak on campus before everything went sour. 

He shed the rumpled clothes he’d gone to class in that morning and had lounged around in all day, and pulled on a soft t-shirt, jeans, a jacket, and then finally his jean jacket over top of it all. He grabbed his backpack, stuffed a blank notebook in it as well as his ragged copy of _The Picture of Dorian Gray_ , and went to flick off the lights.

Before he could, his eyes snagged on the small canister that was placed unassumingly amongst the clutter of his dirty jars of paint brushes and crinkled tubes of paint. He squinted his eyes in silent debate. After a couple moments of hesitation, he picked it up and plucked the joint from its belly before placing it in the small zippered pocket of his bag.

It would be a little gift. An olive branch. Something to take the edge off. It didn’t matter that his nerves were sizzling like exposed wires or that he was thrumming with an anticipation even he didn’t understand. He wanted to appear the complete opposite: calm, cool, with a joint tucked away secretly and a lazy smile on his face. 

When he knocked on Isak’s front door twenty minutes later, he could only hope that was exactly the image he was projecting. 

The only problem was that Isak didn’t open the door. The last person he expected to see was the man from the club. Eskild, Even remembered. Yet there he stood, dressed in an ornate silk kimono that swept around his knees and shearling slippers. A truly pleased smile inched across his face until it was stretched from ear to ear. 

“I recognize you,” he said slowly. “From the club?”

“That’s me. And you’re Eskild?” he asked, just because he didn’t know what else to say. Even did his best to maintain eye contact and to offer him his most charming smile, all in an effort to not rudely look past his shoulder into the apartment. 

“The one and only.” Eskild’s blue eyes went down Even’s body and back up again. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“I’m here to see Isak.”

Eskild was clearly surprised, but also very delighted by Even’s answer. “Baby Jesus is doing laundry right now. Which…” He paused, smirk growing. “…now makes _perfect_ sense.” He leaned forward as if to share with Even some incredible secret. “You must be a very special guest. Isak never does laundry.”

The sound of hurried footsteps made Even pause before he could say anything in return. Not even a moment later Eskild was being forced aside and Isak appeared in the doorway, taking in first Even and then Eskild with a quickly drooping frown. He looked suspicious and tense. 

“Baby Jesus, your gentleman caller is here.”

Isak rolled his eyes. “Don’t be weird. We’re doing homework. Come on, Even. We can go to my room.”

Even gave Eskild a polite smile and stepped past him into the apartment. Isak began to lead Even away.

“Homework,” Eskild said after them, humming as if to taste the word on his tongue. “I haven’t done that move in a while. Be sure to stretch beforehand.”

“Ignore him,” Isak said in a low voice as he led Even past the living room where a girl with pale red hair was watching a television show on low volume and into a long, dim hallway. 

Even chuckled softly, trying to ease the tension that had been created by his arrival. “It’s fine. He’s funny.”

Isak snorted. “He definitely thinks he is. Um, yeah, this is my room.” He pushed open the last door on the right, holding it open as he awkwardly ushered Even inside. 

Even remembered that the night of the club Eskild had made a comment about Isak’s room stinking of “boy farts.” It didn’t. It smelled like Isak and dryer sheets and the wind that filtered through the open window. It was a little bit lovely. 

Isak shut the door behind them both, silencing the white noise of his roommates in the kitchen and the living room. Isak looked around his own room as if seeing it for the first time, so Even did too. 

The walls were a soft beige, warmed by the honey glow cast upon the entire room by the little lamp on the side table, and decorated with hand-drawn memes and glossy clippings that had been sloppily cut out of posters and magazines. There were only a few pieces of furniture in the otherwise spacious room: a chipped armoire pushed off to the left with doors gaping wide to reveal a haphazard mess of clothes; a bookcase that displayed various textbooks, a laptop, and a stack of snapbacks; a small stand that held a flatscreen television and two controllers; and then bed itself, unmade and messy. The sheets were blue. 

Mostly he just looked at Isak. Before, Even had been too distracted by the flirty way Eskild had sized him up and the anxious way Isak had rushed him in. But now he could look; now he could linger. 

Isak was a master class in color. The grey cotton of his sweatpants were a shade of pale smoke, but the shadows it made as it clung to his body were ash. His hoodie was the color of a rainy day sky, the crown of hair peeking out from under the hood burnished gold. His skin was new honey dappled candy pink on his cheeks and lips. And his eyes… His eyes were a green Even had never seen before. Like moss and juniper on the day after a thunderstorm, with an orange-gold sunburst at the center and circled by a dark ring of myrtle. 

They looked like stained glass. The kind Even would get on his knees to pray to. 

“So,” Isak said, voice low and throaty and brushing against his skin like the rough pad of a single fingertip. “You can sit on the bed if you want. There aren’t a lot of places to sit in here. Sorry. If you really want to, we can go to the kitchen or the living room. I can tell Eskild and Linn to—”

Even interrupted him. “In here is great.”

Isak nodded. “Is it too cold in here? I can close the window or turn the heat on.” 

“I think we should leave the window open. For reasons.”

Isak frowned. “Reasons?”

Even grinned. This was his chance. He unzipped the small pocket at the front of his backpack and pulled out the joint to hold out between them like an olive branch. 

Isak’s brows lifted and his face lit up with a small, albeit impressed smile. “What’s that for?”

Even shrugged nonchalantly. “A little pre-homework gift.”

“Pre-homework gift?” Isak shook his head, biting on his own smile.

“It’s all the rave in Germany, I’ve heard.”

Isak dared to meet his eyes boldly. “And are you a connoisseur of all things German?”

“Budding connoisseur,” Even corrected him playfully, shedding his jean jacket and draping it over the bottom corner of Isak’s bed. “Just a little hobby.”

“A little hobby,” Isak repeated as if amused. Even’s chest tightened. “Well,” Isak said. “I’d hate for your hobby to go to waste.”

They made themselves comfortable on Isak’s window sill, a deep-seated sill that easily accommodated them both. Despite the room afforded to them, despite the fact that it was his own bedroom in his own apartment, and despite the teasing they’d exchanged only moments before, Isak suddenly seemed stiff and uncomfortable. He fidgeted, pulling his legs in far too close, arching his back, bending it, rolling his shoulders. 

Even tried not to be disappointed in the sight. Tried not to overthink and assume what could be going through Isak’s mind. If he wanted Even out of his bedroom, out of his apartment. 

He let Isak take the first hit. Mostly out of generosity. A little bit to see his mouth pursed around the joint as it lit in a small flame of cherry and gold. 

“This is nice,” Isak commented, making hesitant eye contact. 

Even agreed. “I have this dealer who gets it straight from Colombia. Escobar style.”

“Oh, yeah?” Isak gave him a tilted half-smile. “Who’s your contact?”

Even broke out into a smile of his own. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

“You sure know how to treat a friend,” Isak said dryly.

“Thanks. It’s all those years of cartel conditioning.”

Isak snorted. “Whatever.” It was silent for a few moments between them, the kind of silence that scratched at his skin. Isak twirled the joint back and forth between his fingers before passing it to Even. “I think the last dealer I had was Elias.” He coughed into his fist nervously. “That one guy you met.”

Even pushed through the discomfort that made him want to run away and let his curiosity take over. “What ever happened to him?”

“Elias?” Isak asked uselessly. He shrugged and cleared his throat. “He started talking shit to me, so Jonas told him to fuck off.”

“Talking shit?”

“Yeah.” Isak hesitated. “When he found out I actually—“ And then softly, “—like guys… He just said some dumb shit, but Jonas was around to hear it. And yeah, that was it.”

Even hummed, remembering Elias’ mean smile, the laughter in his voice as he’d taunted Isak. The words he’d used. The dancing gleam in his eyes.

“Fuck that guy.”

Isak looked up quickly, clearly surprised, and huffed through a small, pleased smile. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Fuck that guy.”

Even smiled too and placed the tip of the joint between his lips and pulled deeply, letting it burn in the back of his throat before he exhaled a white cloud of smoke. Isak’s eyes followed the shape of his lips, lids low over the pretty green of his irises. The look was so much like the one he’d given Even the night that they’d danced that Even had a hard time remembering what he was even doing in that moment. 

It was a feat that he could pull himself out of the spell long enough to even start a conversation. “So what kind of music do you listen to?”

And that was how he spent his evening. Getting to know Isak—or at least the little things that made up who he was and what he liked. Things he couldn’t have learned from others like Jonas or Magnus, or from the little moments in which Even had existed adjacent to Isak, but only through Isak himself. 

Isak liked hip hop, but specifically the old school stuff from the ‘90s. NWA was his favorite, but he’d never heard of Nas, so Even pulled up “The Message” and let it play on low in the background. Isak listened to “Fuck the Police” when he wanted to feel tough and “Cruisin’ in my 64” when he wanted to feel cool. Last Christmas, Noora had gotten him a “Straight Outta Compton” t-shirt as a gag gift, but he’d actually loved it. 

In high school, he used to skateboard every weekend, but only because Jonas did. And that told Even more than Isak probably realized. The very last time, he’d broken his arm and that was the end of his skateboarding career. He’d given his board to some kid who used to watch from the fence and he’d hugged Isak. 

Isak liked art—surprisingly. When he was younger, his mother would take him to the Munch Museum for his birthday every year. He’d loved the building, but hated that he had to be quiet. He had “The Scream” on a t-shirt, but he liked “Madonna” the best. Even was hopelessly charmed by that. 

He liked the universe. Was completely fascinated by it and all its non-answers. He found comfort in multiplicity and explained parallel universes with a passion Even had seldom seen in others. When he was little, he wanted to be an astronaut.

Now, he wanted to be a doctor. A neurosurgeon perhaps. He was pre-med and spent a lot of his time studying with Sana. They’d known each other in high school and had gotten randomly paired up after a manipulation attempt went wrong. 

Even hung onto every word that Isak spoke. He realized that Isak was more than a thrill that made his skin buzz. He was nice to talk to. Funny. Fun. So smart it was almost intimidating. 

And he wanted to know about Even too. What music he liked, what his favorite film was, what he wanted to do after graduation, how long he and Mikael had been friends. So he told him. 

He liked a bit of everything: pop, jazz if it was good, classical, but hip hop was his favorite. His favorite film was _Romeo + Juliet_ because of the direction, the cinematography, and a little bit because of Leonardo DiCaprio. He wanted to work in film production after graduation, hopefully in Oslo. He and Mikael had been friends for too long, he’d joked. 

Isak listened intently, eyes roaming all over Even’s face as if fascinated by his stories, dipping down to watch his lips every so often. It made Even feel like he was on display. It made his heart soar as if it was strung to a bouquet of balloons. 

They didn’t just talk. Sometimes, between questions and anecdotes, they sat in silence. They listened to the Nas still playing low on his phone and the wind whistling around them. It was the most at peace Even had been in a while. And it didn’t hurt that he was so, so high—body completely loose, his palms tingling, his eyes heavy. It was a type of relaxed he definitely hadn’t seen over the past few days, and he wanted to sink into this feeling forever if he could. 

Even opened his eyes to find Isak looking right back at him, with eyes lidded low, but when he was caught, he blinked and glanced down, picking at his fingers. Even had no such qualms about staring—not right now. He wanted to look and look and look forever. Or at least through the high. 

“So.” Isak’s voice was loose gravel, as if he hadn’t used it in months. It made something sharp dance up through Even’s belly. “How come you’re not out with the guys tonight?”

Even huffed a small chuckle. “Why aren’t you?”

Isak smiled. “Sometimes it all gets to be too much and I want to be alone.”

“You invited me over,” Even pointed out.

“Because you said we were gonna do homework.”

Even had actually forgotten he’d said that. He laughed, enjoying the way Isak smiled in response. Isak’s smile was pretty to look at. 

“So,” Isak repeated, “why aren’t you out with the guys tonight?”

Even pursed his lips and wondered how honest he should be. In reality, he and Isak barely knew each other at all. Their friendship or acquaintanceship or whatever the hell this was was new, fledgling. 

And yet, they’d moved their hips together that one night. They’d held each other and pressed their mouths together. And that was more intimate than anything he had with Mikael or Mutta. 

Even went for honesty. “I’ve been off the last few days, so I missed the opportunity.”

Isak studied him for a few seconds. “Is that why you looked down in class on Wednesday?”

Even was surprised that Isak had been taking stock of Even’s moods. “Did I?” 

“Yeah.”

“Oh. Well, then, I guess yeah. That’s why.”

There were a few moments where it was clear that Isak was hesitating on his next question. And when he finally asked it, it was almost blurted out: “Because of Sonja?”

Even blinked in shock. There was something about hearing Sonja’s name coming out of Isak’s mouth that was discomfiting. As if the two shouldn’t have existed in the same universe, like they belonged in separate worlds. 

“Yeah,” Even sounded out, truths being pulled from him like his high was truth serum. “Yeah, we got in a fight.” He slid off the windowsill, desperate to move. Sitting still felt too constricting in that moment. 

Isak nodded and looked down into his lap, absentmindedly tracing shapes into the soft cotton of his sweatpants. Even couldn’t look away from the pouting bottom lip that glistened bubblegum pink. A memory flashed through his mind, half neon and half darkness, bony hips under his hands and a warm mouth against his. 

He went to the wall where Isak’s memes and clippings were taped. One was a truly unfortunate drawing of a man labeled _GEORGE COSTANZA._ It made Even smile, even when he didn’t feel like it. When he glanced back at Isak, he was still biting on his bottom lip, turning it slick and red. He wondered what it tasted like, how warm it was. 

“Does she know?” Isak asked.

Even blinked and tore his eyes from Isak’s bottom lip. He was too dazed to understand the question. “Know what?”

Isak finally looked up again. His eyes were emerald glass stippled with gold. “Does she know that we kissed?”

Even’s mouth parted in surprise. He never expected Isak to acknowledge what they’d done, and hearing the words “we kissed” come out of his mouth was another feeling entirely. The truth was pulled from him once more. “No,” he said. “It’s one of her rules.”

“Rules?” 

Even wondered how much he should say, but he remembered the day at the beach and how the boys had spread his dirty laundry out for everyone to see. “For the open relationship thing. She has rules.”

One of Isak’s golden brows arched. “What are they?” he asked. He rushed to add, “If you don’t mind me asking.”

Even shrugged, a little ashamed. He couldn’t stand looking at Isak while they talked about this. It was too much, too humiliating. He recited them from memory, like a robot, as he continued to absently explore Isak’s room. “No telling each other about our hookups; I can’t hook up with any of her friends; no unprotected sex; and no forming emotional attachments to other people.”

“Emotional attachments?” Isak asked as Even trailed a finger over the dusty cover of an astronomy book on his shelf.

“Yeah, I guess getting a crush on someone else.”

“Oh.”

Even glanced up, needing to see what was on Isak’s face. He looked curious more than anything, eyes narrowed in concentration. He was still biting his lip, sliding his teeth over it in a back and forth motion. When he felt Even’s eyes on him, he looked back.

Neither one dropped their eyes nor wavered in their matched stare.

“Do you feel guilty?” Isak asked him. 

Even knew what he was asking. “Yes. No. I’m not sure.” _I think about you all the time and it’s driving me crazy_ , he thought. But that was too much truth. 

Isak took a minute to reply, like he was gathering up his words. “Don’t worry. I think you’re allowed to feel and do what you want. No matter what other people say.” He did a little half shrug, as if self-conscious about his own advice. “I’ve heard the boys joke about it. But…you should just listen to whatever you want in the moment.”

Even smiled a small smile. Isak was painfully cute and Even was not immune to that. “In the moment, huh?”

Isak nodded seriously. “Take it minute by minute.”

Even hummed. He was almost too high for the seriousness this conversation was producing. And yet it was freeing in a way to purge himself of it. Like he’d been gorged on the knowledge that he’d kissed this boy and he’d kissed Even back, and Even’s girlfriend no longer found him exciting or fun or funny. 

“How are you feeling in this moment?” he wondered. 

Isak took a moment to think about his answer, face crumpling in concentration. The breeze ruffled his curls. He was sitting with his back to the night, legs spread, and it looked so much like that day at Mutta’s that Even felt the buzzing of a hard-on already. 

“High. Happy. Content,” Isak answered. “What about you?”

“High. Happy. Content,” Even repeated, only a little teasing. He thought about Isak’s pale thighs and white shorts. And then, because he couldn’t help it, “Like I want to kiss you. I think.”

To his credit, Isak barely let the surprise show on his face. It manifested only in the widening of his eyes and the parting of his candy lips. “You think?”

“I’m not sure.” He was actually. He knew he wanted to kiss Isak. He just didn’t know if he _should_. 

Isak shrugged again, a little too forced to be truly casual. But then he said something that made Even’s spine straighten. “Only you can feel what you feel.”

It was a revelation. It tore the veil that had shaded Even’s vision. It was the kindest, most helpful thing anyone had said to him in months. 

The bedroom suddenly felt crowded, overblooming with a sort of tension that was so thick Even could choke on it. His throat was tight. His fingers were warm, palms clammy. Something that was both cold and hot flashed down his body. He wanted to shrink away from it, and at the same time, he wanted to make it last. 

It didn’t feel good, but it also wasn’t bad. It was a little bit frightening, a whole lot exhilarating. He wanted to bathe in it. He wanted to feed it. When he pushed off the wall and took the first step toward Isak, the whole room went still—the energy shifted, Isak froze, the little background noises of the apartment died down, or perhaps they faded away. 

“How do you feel about that?” he wondered, shifting one foot forward. 

“About what?” Isak tracked the movement with his eyes. 

“About the fact that I want to kiss you.” He took another step closer. 

“I thought you weren’t sure,” Isak said almost absentmindedly. 

Isak shifted and sat straighter, making his thighs tense up. Even wondered what they’d feel like under his palms. If he’d even be allowed to touch. “Maybe I am,” he said. 

“Awesome,” he said quietly, sincerely, almost unsure. It was endearing and a confusing juxtaposition to how hot he looked sitting in the window like that. 

Even was only a step away. “Yeah?” 

Isak’s eyes were glassy, low, heavy-lidded. He looked drunk—drunk on Even’s proximity—and that made Even feel bold. Like a king. 

Isak’s pink lips were parted, so his answering “Yeah” was more of a breath than a sounded word. 

Even took that final step toward Isak. He was flush against the sill, standing between Isak’s parted legs. His thighs were warm around Even’s hips, and even though he wanted to touch them, he didn’t. They were shaking slightly. 

Isak was looking at him. His eyes didn’t stray from Even’s lips, completely hooked on them. It made Even feel powerful, wanted, desired. It was a heady feeling, one that soared through his veins like starlight. 

He leaned forward and touched his forehead to Isak’s. The skin there was cool, feeling like heaven against Even’s own fevered skin. The wind wrapped around them in a light caress. 

When Even tilted his chin, smoothing his nose along the bridge of Isak’s, his vision blurred like a Monet. Everything was Isak. The vivid colors of his eyes and lips, the soft smell of his hoodie, the ragged sound of his breath, his golden curls tickling Even’s skin. 

Sonja flitted across his mind but he pushed her away just as fast.

When Even softly pressed his lips to Isak’s—warm, warm, warm—his entire body broke out in chills. The hairs on his arms seemed to stand on end, as if a lightning storm was rolling in white-hot. Isak smelled like cotton and he tasted like warmth. He tasted like something undefinable. He tasted like Isak. He tasted _good_. 

Even kissed him again, flicking the tip of his tongue against Isak’s bottom lip to feel that blood-hot slickness he’d been admiring earlier. Isak’s mouth parted beautifully under his own, warm and soft, his tongue sliding smooth against Even’s. 

The tingling in his skin had burrowed inward, until his joints and muscles and organs were alight with it. His bones were melting like butter with every press of their lips together, with every slide of Even’s tongue into Isak’s mouth. 

Isak was shy and uncertain with his own tongue, but he used his teeth softly against Even’s bottom’s lip and it was all over for him. He exhaled roughly and dared to skim his fingertips across the beating pulse in Isak’s neck. The skin was silken, warm. Isak swallowed and his throat worked against Even’s hand. 

He slipped his hand higher, letting his palm rub against the sharp curve of Isak’s jaw until his thumb could hook beneath the bone and his fingers could slide through the thick of Isak’s curls. With the pad of his thumb, he nudged Isak’s chin higher so that he could press even closer, deepen the kiss even more. 

He’d barely worked up the courage to dance his other hand across the crest of Isak’s knee when there was a heavy knock at the bedroom door. Isak startled, jerking against Even so hard that their teeth knocked together painfully. 

“Isak?” Eskild’s voice sounded through the door, as if underwater. An awful interruption. “Your washing is done. I need you to put it in the dryer!”

Isak’s big green eyes were trained on the door. He was breathing roughly, lips pink and slick. His heartbeat was visible beneath the thin skin at the base of his throat. 

“Isak?” Eskild knocked again. 

“Coming!” Isak said back, voice as ragged as his breath. He finally dared to meet Even’s eyes as he hopped down from the window. He did it slowly, running the entire front of his body down Even’s until they were toe to toe, hips to hips, chest to chest. 

“I’ll be right back,” he mumbled and slipped past Even. 

Even stayed frozen at the window, listening to Isak’s footsteps fade away the farther he got until the door opened and clicked closed behind him. There was a buzzing exchange outside of the door that Even couldn’t make out, likely between Eskild and Isak. 

The blood was rushing in Even’s ears. He closed his eyes against the wind that rushed through the gaping window, cooling his hot skin. He brought a finger to his lips, feeling the flushed heat, the slickness from Isak’s mouth. The taste of him was still on Even’s tongue. 

His skin was thrumming like he had a current buried beneath it, threaded around his bones. His very skeleton had a beat. And his skin was tight, pulling taut so that he felt swollen everywhere. Hard. Hungry. Wanting. He was almost choking on the desire that was bubbling out of his every pore like a fountain. 

The door opened again and Even turned. Isak closed the door, pressing his back against it. They stared at each other like they couldn’t believe what they’d done. Like they wanted to do it again. 

“Are you okay?” Isak asked in a low voice. So low that Even could only make it out by reading the shape of Isak’s lips. 

“I'm better than okay,” he said without meaning to. Like someone else was pulling the strings, making his lips move. 

Something happy and pleased lit up Isak’s face, but only the slightest bit. If Even wasn’t paying such close attention, he wouldn’t have caught it at all. 

“Are you gonna get weird like last time?” Isak asked. 

Even raised his brows, surprised time and time again by this boy. For someone so shy and unsure, Isak was also bold and direct when he wanted to be. He was a complete puzzle—one that Even was unwillingly willing to spend hours trying to figure out. 

He sighed long and hard. “I didn’t think I was this kind of person,” he admitted. 

Isak’s answering voice was soft, kind. “Maybe you’re not any kind of person.” He gave a little one-shoulder shrug. “Maybe you’re just Even.”

Even half-smiled. He licked his lips, tasting the stray traces of Isak still on him. He felt a little guilty, a little confused. But he wasn’t sure if there was anywhere else he wanted to be. 

“How are you feeling in this moment?” he decided to ask. 

Isak looked down, tucking his chin. It couldn’t hide his pleased smile. “High. Happy. Content.” He looked up at Even from beneath his lashes. His eyes were lovely and dark. “What about you?”

“High,” Even repeated playfully. “Happy. Content.”

Isak huffed out a quiet laugh. He looked like he was considering something. And then he asked, “Do you want to watch a movie?” He licked his lips. “Or we could work on our project. Or…”

“A film is good,” Even said quietly. 

“Yeah?” When Even nodded his reassurance, Isak pulled his laptop from the shelf in the bookcase. He threw it on the bed and gave Even a cat’s smile coated candy pink. “I’ll let you choose.”


	6. The Sunbeams Flaring in Your Beauty

He woke up hard. 

The full length of his naked body curved into the soft press of his bed—half his face was pressed into the downy cushion of his cold pillows, his arms hooked around them as if in embrace; one leg was pointed down, straight as an arrow, the other crooked as the hook of a shepherd’s staff; his back was arched, spine curving, softly pushing his hips into the mattress. 

Despite the cotton cloud softness surrounding him from all sides—his sheets, his pillows, his blanket—Even’s body was heavy, full, like even the gentlest touch would have him brimming over the edge in seconds. The very skin he wore was so sensitive that every which way he shifted in bed reverberated through his bones like a pumping speaker, echoing vibrations through his limbs and right down to his fingers and toes. Everything was _alert_ : his heart, his fingertips, his lips, his dick. 

He pulled his knee up higher and his cock brushed more firmly against the cool sheets. The feeling nearly took his breath away. It had been so long since he’d gotten off—all of his efforts thwarted by guilt, creeping thoughts of the strangers that might be gracing Sonja’s bed, or both—and even longer since someone else had touched him. If he was aching for connection, aching for someone to desire him, he was positively desperate for that desire to be shown physically. Like the first cool drink down a parched throat or the gasp of fresh air after drowning. 

It certainly didn’t help that he woke up to his mind all wrapped around Isak. 

After he’d left Isak’s apartment the night before, he’d gone to bed with his head still left behind. He replayed every millisecond of his time there, from the moment Isak had ushered him into his bedroom to the moment he had walked Even to the door, smiling almost bashfully. All the moments in between were Even’s favorites: Isak’s kind words, falling all over his sore brain like a balm; his moon eyes, faceted with that topaz starburst at the center; the slick warmth of his lips on Even’s; his thighs bracketing Even’s hips. 

They’d gone no further that night. Instead, after Eskild’s interruption, Isak had put on a random film that Even couldn’t pay attention to. They’d sat on Isak’s bed, a foot of space and metaphorical miles between them, each staring at the screen blankly. The tension had been almost unbearable, wrapping around his throat like a snake. And the guilt was its fangs. Even had wanted to both run away and start all over again. But he’d done neither. He stayed through the whole movie, focus be damned, and let Isak walk him out afterward, finding a certain thrill in his sweet shyness. 

Now, as he shifted onto his back and dragged his fingers down the length of his hard cock, it was Isak’s tongue he thought about. How nervous he was using it, letting Even push against him until he learned how to respond in kind. How soft it was, brushing across Even’s bottom lip. How that soft sweetness might feel replacing his own hand at that very moment. 

He twisted his wrist and worked the head, and thought of Isak in those white shorts. How they had bunched up around the tops of Isak’s thighs as he sat, legs splayed wide open in the seat of Mutta’s window. How he had leaned back against the glass pane as if on display, the flat cut of his abs flexing in time with every harsh breath. How he’d worn his snapback backward so that he looked like some hot frat douchebag—a look that, on anyone else, Even would otherwise have found utterly unappealing.

Without meaning to, he began to thrust his hips—little tiny thrusts to help the quick slide of his hand against his skin. It would be over almost surprisingly fast. He could feel the orgasm coming from a mile away, desire building like a grease fire in his gut, rushing to the surface and filling his whole body with it. It wouldn’t be long now—not with Isak everywhere and his hand working the way it was.

His final thoughts brought him back to the night of the club. Their bodies slotted together like puzzle pieces, grinding in small circles. How hard he’d been in his jeans, absolutely aching. Isak’s fingers in his hair, clenching with fistfuls. The technicolor dream that had been his face, eyes wide open, rainbow bright, and lips pink and slick. The hot press of their mouths together, the hot press of their hips. 

When he came, he was convinced nothing had ever felt as good as this. _Nothing_. It was pleasure unrivaled. It seemed to rush through his body like heroin, soothing away every hurt and anxiety he’d felt over the last few weeks and leaving in its wake pure bliss. Ecstasy.

He stroked himself through it, gasping as it took him over. Warmth suddenly splattered across his belly, his chest, his collarbones, all over his skin. It kept going and going and going. Feeling so, so, so _good_. His skin was thrumming like a plucked guitar string and his dick was pumping against his palm. 

And all the while, Even’s mind wandered to the very image he’d kept himself away from. As his body shuddered in his bed, he imagined Isak on top of him, riding him through this heaven. Pink lips curled in a smile or open in a moan. Flat abs clenching the way Even’s stomach was clenching now as he came. 

That image was both a blessing and a curse. 

After the high receded, leaving behind only a wisp or two of pleasure before disappearing completely, Even lay absolutely still. Body loose like a doll, his torso slick with sweat and cum, hand wet and still wrapped around his dick, chest heaving.

Even pulled a breath in through his parted lips and stared at the faint green stars on his ceiling. His mind was almost completely blank—so much so that he began chuckling to himself for no reason at all aside from the fact that his body felt good. Relaxed. As if it had been leached of some poison that had taken over his blood. 

He ran his clean hand over his lips absentmindedly. And when he caught himself doing so, he wondered if any traces of Isak could be found on his skin. If the taste of him still lingered behind his teeth or on his tongue. If he thought long and hard enough, could he remember the feel of him?

His body certainly remembered Isak. His slick chest was proof enough of that. He held up his hand and the daylight caught the gleam on his skin. Heat rolled through him. 

He wondered what Isak would say if he knew Even had used the memory of his lips and tongue to fuel his fantasy. Would he be delighted? Or disgusted?

He wondered what _Sonja_ would say. 

At the thought of her, the guilt and shame that were his constant companions came roaring to life, surging forward to raze everything blissful to the ground. He wanted to shrivel up and hide for eternity in the face of them. 

But even more than that, he wanted to linger in the lightness. He wanted these moments to be only about his desire and its aftermath. About how good he’d felt, even only in sensation. 

He wanted that so, so badly. 

So, against all instincts, he shoved Sonja and all thoughts of their relationship out of his mind, pushing them away until all he could think of was the white-hot pleasure he’d experienced only moments before. The way it had engulfed him completely, made him shudder and sigh like he hadn’t in months. 

He focused on that, and the boy who’d caused it, and reached toward his bedside table, unaware that a smile was blooming on his face.

* * *

Hours later, Mikael found him still in his room. The windows were thrown open now, flooding the room with daylight; bright, poppy music played on his speaker; and Even was painting, dragging a thick paintbrush dipped in red across the naked face of an unused canvas. 

He looked over his shoulder and shot Mikael a grin before going back to fix a curve that wasn’t round enough. He gripped the wooden handle of the brush and twisted it back over the spot, watching splotchy white turn glistening red. Happy, he dropped the brush into a jar of water and rubbed its bristles around the glass bottom, watching the clear water turn cherry red. 

He bobbed his head in time to the beat of the music and danced his fingertips over the dozens of clean brushes waiting. He plucked a thin one from the middle and dipped it into a glossy glob of black paint. 

“Why are you so smiley today?” Mikael asked, as if to accuse him. He leaned a shoulder against the doorframe and crossed one leg over the other at the ankle. His eyes were narrowed. 

Even stopped, suddenly realizing that his mouth was straining in a sunshine smile. It felt nice to have his cheeks hurt from it. He shrugged, unaffected. “I don’t know.”

“I take it you and Sonja made up.” There was a sarcastic edge to Mikael’s voice. 

Even looked over his shoulder again, frowning. “No, actually. We didn’t.” He still hadn’t heard from her. And he’d been too busy last night, and that morning, to even obsess over whether to contact her. 

His reply only confused Mikael more. “Then what’s up with—” He waved his hand around to indicate Even painting and dancing and smiling. “—all this?”

Even snorted. “Can’t I be happy?”

“Yes,” Mikael said, coming closer. His bare feet shuffled against the hardwood floor. “But you haven’t been this happy in weeks. In fact, you’ve been a miserable bastard.”

“Thanks.” 

“So, what did you and Isak do last night?” Mikael asked with such a sly tone, every word dripping with suggestion, that Even knew exactly what he was actually asking. 

“Homework.” Even fixed him with a pointed stare. “I told you that. I went over to work on our project.” It wasn’t actually a lie. He _had_ gone over on the pretense to do exactly that. Just because they hadn’t didn’t mean he was lying now.

“Homework? Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

Even snorted again. “You’re a dick.”

“So,” he said, smiling, “what happened?”

“Nothing,” Even said automatically. But then he remembered that this was his best friend. The very best friend he’d lied to the first time. And there was a part of him that truly wanted to share what had happened, even if it was only a sliver. If there was anyone who he could share this secret with without fear of retribution, it was Mikael. 

“Well,” Even amended, noticing how Mikael went still, “we kissed.”

Mikael’s eyes grew wide. “You kissed?”

“I kissed him,” Even clarified. He felt that was important to add, though he wasn’t sure why.

“Holy shit.” Mikael shook his head, eyes briefly far away. “You-” He stuttered over another syllable or two. “ _Why_?”

Even chuckled. “That’s a stupid question.”

“No, it’s not,” Mikael insisted. “Last time this happened, you nearly had a breakdown from the guilt.”

“I didn’t nearly have a breakdown.” 

“Yeah, okay,” Mikael said sarcastically. “You definitely did, but whatever. One minute you and Sonja are fighting, the next you’re apparently kissing Isak. First at the club and now at your ‘ _study session_.’ Was it for, like, revenge or something?”

“No.” Even grimaced, insulted. “I’m not an asshole. But thanks.”

“Ugh. Don’t be dramatic. But seriously. Why?”

Even thought about it, but all his reasons—or at least the things he _thought_ were his reasons—were too personal. Embarrassing somehow. So he said, “He’s hot.”

“He is,” Mikael agreed, obviously still confused. 

“And we don’t need to talk about this anymore,” Even added quickly. 

“Hey.” Mikael’s voice went soft. “I’m not going to judge you for this. If you want to kiss Isak, kiss him. I was just…curious.” He waited until he could catch Even’s eye and held it. “Seriously, Ev. You do you. And I’ll be here to listen to your,” he paused, face lighting up in mischief, “exploits afterward.”

Even groaned and picked up an old paper towel splotched with paint and threw it at Mikael, missing by a good two feet. Mikael still ducked in reflex though, and Even counted that as a win. 

They both chuckled and that felt good too. Just as he reached over to turn the volume up on the speaker, he saw Mikael’s eyes stray somewhere to his left. Even’s gaze followed.

There, on his nightstand, was a box of tissues, toppled over from Even’s shaky hands that morning grasping for something to clean himself up with. And beneath the nightstand was his small trash can, the bag inside already tied up tight. It was a damning scene. 

When Mikael’s eyes met his, Even almost felt like laughing. Those dark eyes of his best friend widened, horrified, and his mouth contorted in a grimace.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he asked, as if in disbelief. 

Even grinned, brows dancing up. “What?”

Mikael shook his head, grimace still very much there. “Here I am worried that maybe you’re slipping into mania, because I barely see you smile anymore, and the whole time you’re just…” He groaned long and hard. “Dopey because you nutted?”

That made Even laugh. It was the type of laugh that came from his belly and made his muscles clench with the force of it. 

“Thank you,” he told Mikael when it had passed, little giggles still escaping, “I really needed that.”

Mikael cut a pointed look to the tissue box. “Apparently not.”

Even chuckled and shook his head. He went back to his canvas, pulling a thin black line straight down the center. Where the paint had thinned out at the bottom, he went back and filled it in so everything was crisp and dark. 

When he went back for more paint, he caught Mikael still standing there. He was watching Even, scrutinizing him, the faintest shape of a half-smile tilting up one corner of his mouth.

“What?” Even said. 

Mikael lifted a shoulder. “Nah, it’s nothing. I, uh…” He laughed to himself. “It’s like the old Even is here.”

Even smiled. “Did you miss the old Even?” He put a bouncing lilt to his voice. “Straight from the go Even?”

Mikael rolled his eyes and threw his arm up. “Forget it.” He walked out of the door, but reappeared a moment later, grasping onto the frame and sticking only his head in. “Hey, I’m going to Jonas’ soon. You’re coming, right?”

“For what?”

“He asked us to look at the short film he’s making for his political science class, remember?”

“Oh, yeah.” He didn’t remember that. “Sure. When are we leaving?”

Mikael checked the time on his phone. “Twenty minutes.”

Forty minutes later, they were out of the apartment and on the sidewalk. Jonas lived with Mahdi not too far away, so they walked. It wasn’t necessarily a pretty day, but Even enjoyed it nonetheless. It was overcast and scattered with clouds that looked as if they’d been made with a paint brush that had skittered across the sky with an amateur hand. The air was cool, smelling of the autumn to come, and it made Even’s lungs feel fresh every time he pulled it in. 

Not for the first time since Mikael announced their plans, Even wondered if Isak would be there too. It filled him with a feeling that sat in the pit of his stomach. A mixture of nerves and inexplicable excitement. The kind that took him by the throat as a kid before field trips and vacations. The kind of excitement he would willingly wake up for. It was confusing, but exhilarating in a type of way.

But the closer they got to the dingy apartment building Jonas and Mahdi lived in, the more nervous Even got. How was he supposed to act around Isak? How would Isak treat him? They’d had their tongues in each other’s mouths not for the first time, but the second. Would it be awkward? Tense? Would Isak pretend that it hadn’t happened? Should Even?

His anxiety only increased after they entered the building, took a very questionable elevator ride, and knocked on the door littered with peeling strawberry stickers. 

When Jonas opened the door, the smell of cheap weed wafted out. Without saying anything, he ushered them both inside, more anxious than Even had ever seen him. 

“Sorry,” Jonas said when the door was shut and locked safely behind them. “Mahdi’s smoking and our neighbor hates it.” 

“No worries,” Mikael said as they followed him in. 

Jonas brought them to the living room, which was empty but for Mahdi himself, bent over a massive bong. He threw up a lazy wave that Mikael returned, but Even didn’t have it in him to pretend. 

He tried not to be conspicuous as he looked around what he could see of the apartment, searching for any trace of Isak. Shoes, a jacket, even the barest hint of his smell. But the only shoes at the front were his own and Mikael’s and the apartment stunk of weed.

“Where is everyone?” he asked, not realizing until it was too late that he’d interrupted something Jonas had been saying. 

Jonas’ thick brows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”

The room suddenly felt hot and Even was very aware that Jonas, Mahdi, and Mikael were all staring at him with varying levels of confusion. His regret was instant, and yet there was still a curious part of him that was dying to know if his disappointment was all for naught. 

“You know.” He shrugged, faux casual. “Magnus is always with you guys. And Isak.”

From his periphery, he could make out Mikael letting his eyes fall shut in embarrassment. But Jonas and Mahdi still looked confused. 

“Magnus is helping Vilde with…something. I don’t know. And Isak was roped into deep cleaning his apartment. _Which_ ,” Jonas stretched the word out and shared an amused look with Mahdi, “is probably Eskild’s way of making Isak tell him about his date last night.” He snorted. 

And then Mikael chimed in, making Even’s cheeks go hot. “Date? Was that before or after you went over there to do homework?” He said “homework” like it was a dirty word. 

“Wait,” Jonas said, turning to face Even fully. He looked him up and down. “ _You_ kissed Isak?”

Even stood straighter, heart thumping uncomfortably. It was the very last thing he’d expected Jonas to say, and the surprise took him completely off guard. It was as if he had been stripped naked. “How'd you know that?” That response only made him look guilty. 

Jonas looked back at Mahdi, but Even couldn’t decipher what their eyes were saying. “Uh,” he seemed to catch on the word for a moment, “Isak let it slip when we were over there earlier. He didn’t say it was _you_ though.”

Even felt trapped. He’d never meant to reveal this to anyone else. First, Mutta and Mikael, and now Mahdi and Jonas. And who knew where else it would spread from here. He wasn’t sure how he felt about his friends knowing, and apparently neither did Isak if he hadn’t revealed _who_ it was he’d kissed when he told Mahdi and Jonas. 

“I mean, yeah,” he said uselessly, stuck on only one pathway. “It just happened.” He wasn’t sure what else he should say. What he _could_ say. 

Mikael chuckled at his discomfort. 

“So, is this a thing now?” Mahdi asked, sitting forward now, completely focused despite the grey haze that clouded around him and his thumb poised on a blue lighter. 

“No.” Even shook his head. “It was just the once.”

“Twice,” Mikael corrected. “There was the club too.”

Even swiveled. “Mik!” he hissed, half in disbelief, half in scandal.

“Wait.” Jonas looked alert, like he’d just figured something out. “That night at XOXO?”

Even closed his eyes and sighed. He was caught and there was nowhere else to turn, nothing else to do. “Yes.”

“Isak didn’t tell me about that one,” Jonas said thoughtfully. 

There was an uncomfortable silence then, one in which everyone in the room came to terms with every bit of information that had come out in the last minute. It was an unpleasant quiet that crawled up Even’s body like spiders, sweeping its soft legs against his skin.

And then Jonas made a noise. “Huh.” As if he’d thought of something mildly interesting. There was something in that noise that piqued Even’s curiosity. 

“What?”

Jonas blinked, as if he had thought he was all alone and only now noticing that he wasn’t. He shook his head. “No, nothing. I just…” He furrowed his brows, but he was smiling slightly. “I didn’t even think you _liked_ Isak.” 

And Even didn’t know what to say to that. Because he hadn’t. He hadn’t liked Isak. And he’d harbored that dislike for almost a year. Publicly. He was cold and indifferent after Isak had muttered those hateful words, and he didn’t care who saw. 

But now he knew differently. He’d learned the truth. And Isak had apologized. They had kissed. And maybe that shouldn’t have made a difference to Even… But it did somehow. 

They weren’t exactly true friends, but neither were they strangers. They were somewhere in between, existing in a liminal space wherein they’d shared breaths but not secrets. Not even their secret kisses were secrets anymore. 

Eventually, when it was clear Even had no words left to give, everyone moved on. It was an uncomfortable transition, but somehow Jonas made it better. Mahdi went back to taking rips from his bong and Jonas pulled out his computer to begin explaining his idea for his political video. Something about national degradation in the face of capitalism. It was an idea that, on any other day, Even would have been eager to help with. But he had a difficult time getting into it, like a car whose battery was nearly drained of life. 

The minutes wore on and he never stopped wondering if, out of nowhere, Isak would walk through the door and satisfy the nerves that were raised, on edge, beneath his skin. He never did. 

Eventually Even gave into the contagion of Jonas’ project and Mikael’s excitement, smiling and offering ideas of his own. And as they worked through the afternoon, Even falling back into the sweet high of happiness, he came to the startling realization that he hadn’t thought of Sonja in hours.

* * *

Even was worried that the high would wear off. It didn’t even matter where it had come from, he’d decided. All that he cared about was that it made him feel good—amazing even—and he wasn’t willing to let that go. He was willing to sink his claws into it and hang on for dear, dear life. At least for a little while.

The next day, as he gradually woke from sleep to the stink of charred pancakes and bacon, he found that he had just as much desire to smile as he had the day before. It filled him up with a type of elation he had not met for some time. It was like his heart had been cut in half. But rather than kill him, it made him lighter, airier. It made him feel like he could fly. It was refreshing. 

There was still the issue of the guilt raging behind a locked door, as well as how many days was “a few days” and if the onus was on him to contact Sonja or if he should wait for her to contact him, but it didn’t weigh him down completely as it had the past week. Instead, he felt like maybe it would be okay if he didn’t worry about it for one day. Maybe his whole world wouldn’t end if he just allowed himself to have one day where he didn’t feel sad, guilty, or ashamed. 

It was liberating, to unfetter himself, however momentarily, of the shackles his relationship had locked on him. The word “freedom” came to mind, but he decided that that was too harsh. Dramatic even. No one should need freedom from their own relationship. It was only a much needed break from the heightened emotions he was prone to. That was all. How many times had Sonja told him so? It was ironic that she was right now.

He allowed his smile to grow and pushed away those negative feelings threatening to spill all over the place. He found it was easier to do than the day before. He wondered if that was all it took—repeating an action over and over again until, with every instance, the guilt became less and less noticeable until it was all but wiped away. 

Today, he decided, he didn’t care about the mechanics of it. He was just going to take advantage. So he climbed out of bed, threw on clothes, and let Mikael convince him that they should spend the day in the park with all the others. 

They ate what bits of breakfast were salvageable together, and afterward, gathered blankets and snacks, some books, and an old frisbee Mikael had tucked away in the corner of his closet. 

By the time they made it to the park, it was busy. The great wide green of the field was patterned with towels and blankets. Not far off, a few guys played a lazy game of football while their friends cheered them on. A small ice cream cart was making its way around the perimeter of the park, its vendor shouting out flavors with a booming voice. Where the sun shone the brightest, a group of girls were laid out on a huge blanket, letting the light touch their bare shoulders and legs. On the playground nearby, kids were shouting and screaming, filling the air with their glee. 

It was contagious. Even felt lighter than ever, his chest all filled with bubbles. 

They met Adam, Mikael, Yousef, Mutta, and Elias over on a patch of grass near the skatepark. Jonas was easy to spot, his big cloud of dark hair bouncing as he flew this way and that on his skateboard. Near the chain link fence, Magnus and Mahdi were talking to Aleksander, who held his battered skateboard like a cane. 

Almost instantly, Even wondered if Isak was there too. Bubbles began to fill up his chest to his collarbones, fizzing violently. He told himself that the bubbles weren’t for Isak, but sometimes it was too hard to lie to himself. 

The truth was…Isak was fun. Kissing him, touching his neck and jaw and knee and lips, was the most fun he had had in weeks. And it wasn’t just the touching and the kissing, it was the talking. Talking to him was thrilling, exciting even. 

And yes, maybe the kissing had been a two-time thing, but that didn’t mean Even couldn’t talk to him. Enjoy his presence. Enjoy the way he could get so thoroughly distracted by him that everything else either faded away or dimmed considerably. For Even, who was so often locked inside his own head with his own, often unpleasant, thoughts, that distraction was a blessing. And who was he to ignore a blessing?

They set up their blankets and spread out their snacks and drinks, and Even stretched out with a book. He pushed his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose and pretended as if he wasn’t searching for Isak in every boy that passed him by. 

When it was clear that Isak wasn’t any of them, the bubbles began to die, one by one. Pop, pop, popping until his chest was hollow again. The sun shifted behind a cloud and the daylight dimmed. Even made his eyes stay on the words on the page. 

While Even read, Mikael, Adam, Mutta, and Yousef threw the frisbee back and forth. Adam started picking at the snacks they’d brought and Elias whipped out a water gun and flirted with the girls sunbathing. Eventually, Magnus and Mahdi wandered over and joined Even on the blankets, interrupting him so often that he finally closed his book. 

Later on, when the sun dipped ever so slightly in the sky, all the boys congregated at the short fence circling the skate ramps. Even leaned his elbows between two dips in the fence, watching boys in baggy jeans and ratty shoes ride around on their boards. He thought of the story Isak had told him Friday night, about how he’d broken his arm and given up skateboarding. 

Even looked up and the bubbles started fizzing. It was like his own thoughts had conjured him, like something that defied laws. But there he was, far enough to be out of hearing range, but not far enough that Even couldn’t make out every single detail. 

Isak was sitting on the back of a lone bench, hunched over, brows furrowed, mouth frowning. One hand was holding his phone to his ear, the other was gesticulating wildly. Though he was far away, Even could tell that Isak was yelling. He wondered what was being said. 

He glanced to his right and to his left, but no one else seemed to notice Isak. Only him. He felt a little embarrassed that he was so fascinated by this boy that he was the only one who saw him. Even in broad daylight. 

Even continued to watch him. He watched Isak for so long that he saw the climax and the falling action of the story. So long that he saw him click his phone in violent repetition to hang up the call and pull his fingers through his hair. So long that he watched that visceral anger recede before Isak eventually stared off into the distance, distracted. 

Even stepped back, bouncing slightly as his grip on the fence pulled him back forward. He glanced at Adam and Mahdi on either side of him, but neither seemed aware of the internal dilemma he was facing. He let go of the fence and took another step back. Neither one spared him even a side glance. 

“I’m thirsty,” he said uselessly, throwing out an excuse that no one caught or cared about. 

He kept looking back as he walked over to that bench. He tried to muster up some of that old Even confidence that had seen him swagger into many a party the first three years of university. But the closer he got, the less assured he felt. So the best he could do was walk tall and smile easily as Isak raised his head to meet Even’s eyes. 

As it turned out, it was difficult to face someone you’d jerked off to. Even’s heartbeat paused for a dangerous amount of time before thumping back to life. 

“Hi,” Isak said, voice caught on a surprised squeak. His blonde hair was free, soft, wavy but for where it curled up tight at the ends. The wind ran through it, sweeping a swooping curl across his forehead that he flicked away impatiently. 

Even climbed up onto the bench and sat on the back, but left a foot of space between them. And yet, despite that space, he could still feel his body tingling from the proximity. It made him want to squirm. 

“Hey,” he said back. 

It was awkward almost immediately. Neither one knew what else to say, or were willing _to_ say it, it seemed. They sat with silence between them—not even the screaming kids or the scrape of skateboards on concrete could dull the tension. Even looked over and Isak turned his head, locking eyes with Even for only one long moment before he dropped them and ducked his head further. 

So Even blurted out the only thing he could to shatter the invisible wall erected between them. “That looked like a fun chat you were having earlier.” He didn’t even care that it made him look nosy and prying. He only hoped that it would spark something like it had on Friday—not the kissing, no matter how much he liked it, but the talking. He just wanted to talk. 

“What?” Isak looked up again and the sun caught his eyes. They were incomprehensibly green. Even had never seen such eyes. He wondered which paints he would have to blend to get that color on canvas.

It took him too long to reply. “You were on the phone before.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Isak huffed softly; it was a sound entirely without humor. “That wasn’t a fun chat. It was, uh-” He spared a quick, almost suspicious glance at Even. “-my sister. Lea.”

“Oh?” He tried to sound unaffected, like whatever answer Isak gave him mattered little to him. In truth, he was trying not to succumb to the thrill that was quickly taking over his body at this meaningless conversation they were having. 

Isak looked wary to share more, wriggling his body uncomfortably. When he saw Even waiting patiently, with a friendly, open smile, he continued. “She lives in Greece now and she doesn’t want to fly home for Christmas.”

“And that’s bad,” Even guessed. 

“Not bad,” Isak corrected him. “Just selfish.” At Even’s cocked brow, he said, “My mom misses her a lot.”

“Do you?”

Isak narrowed his eyes, glancing sideways at Even. And even though there was a healthy amount of skepticism in that look, there was some playfulness too. And it was that playfulness that made Even shrug off the awkwardness he still felt and smile back. 

“Isn’t it a little early in the day for deep family chats?” Isak asked. 

“It’s never too early for that. And besides, it’s-” Even looked down at his watch. “-three in the afternoon. I wouldn’t call that early.”

“Yeah, well, usually I’d still be in bed.” Isak leaned his forearms on his knees and let the sunlight wash over the crown of his golden head.

“What was different today?” Even asked, mirroring his pose.

“Honestly?” He smiled shyly at his feet. “I didn’t want to help clean my apartment, so I left.”

Without meaning to, Even said, “I thought you did that yesterday.” He didn’t realize until after he’d said it that he had given himself away, even if only a little. 

Isak dropped his smile and frowned over at him. “How did you know that?”

“Oh, uh.” Even forced his smile bigger. He’d learned that it was always easy to disarm someone with a big enough smile. “Jonas said so. We were hanging out yesterday.”

“And you talked about me?”

“No. Well, yeah. He just mentioned that Eskild had forced you into it.”

Isak didn’t look convinced, but he replied anyway. “Yeah. Eskild likes to make me clean when he wants to be annoying.”

Even remembered what Jonas had said about Isak’s “date” and how Eskild had used the cleaning as a tactic. “Annoying?”

Isak made an affirmative noise low in his throat. “Yeah.” He hesitated. “It seems like you made quite the impression when you came over.”

A small tendril of _something_ swam up his chest. “Did I?”

“Eskild was very taken with you.”

Even pressed his right hand to his chest and grinned. “With me?”

Isak rolled his eyes and tried not to smile. “He thinks you’re hot.” And then he rushed to add, “His words.”

There was something about hearing the words “You’re hot” coming out of Isak’s mouth, despite who’d really said them, that made Even’s heart race and his belly churn. “Hm. That’s nice of him. Did Eskild have anything else to say about me?”

“Nothing appropriate.”

Even hummed, grinning madly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Isak raised a brow. 

“For next time,” he clarified.

Isak studied him, those big green eyes roving all over his face. And then he did that heartbreaking half-smile and looked down at his feet. “For next time,” he repeated softly.

The quiet that followed then was different than the one before. This one was more natural, soothing even. Even could enjoy the sound of the wind or the skateboards or the children playing and not want to rake his own skin. He could sit there beside Isak and not be totally engulfed by the way his entire right side was positively thrumming from being so close to him. There was still a little awkwardness, but it wasn’t enough to make his throat tight or palms sweat. 

In the end, it was Isak who broke the silence. His mouth opened and then closed, and then he bit his lip before quietly asking, like he didn’t know if he was allowed, “So how are you feeling today? In this moment.” 

Even smiled. He wondered if this was Isak’s way of acknowledging what had happened between them that night in his bedroom. “Well, I’m not high.” Isak snorted. “But I am happy. Content. Taking things as they come.” He paused, looking at Isak from the corner of his eye. “Someone told me to take it minute by minute, so I’m trying to do that.”

Isak was smiling. “That someone sounds smart.”

“Eh.” Even shrugged. “He’s kind of full of himself.”

Isak scoffed. “Says the guy with gel in his hair.”

“It’s actually a pomade.” 

“I’m happy to say that I don’t know the difference.”

“It shows,” Even teased. 

Isak touched his hair, flicking that same swoop out of his eyes. “My hair is nice,” he mumbled. 

“It is,” Even relented, smiling. 

Isak looked like he didn’t know what to do with that. He huffed and looked away again, concentrating hard on something in the distance. Even looked out that way too out of curiosity, but saw nothing but the ramps, the skateboarders, and the dozen or so people watching. 

“Why aren’t you out there?”

Isak gave him a look that was unimpressed. “I told you I quit.”

He had. And Even remembered. But he wasn’t going to let that stop him from teasing.

“What, no trickshots for me?” At Isak’s raised brow, Even continued, eager to make him laugh or, at the very least, smile or smirk. “No half-pipe heelies or reverse ramp-ups?” He had zero idea what he was saying, just spouting whatever words came to mind in that moment. But the sight of Isak’s amusement writ large upon his face made it all worth it. 

“Half-pipe heelies,” Isak muttered, failing to hide his smile. 

“Was that not right?”

“Hey!”

They both looked up. Aleksander approached, swinging his skateboard before dropping it to the ground in front of the bench. 

“Hey,” Isak said back. The word was tinged with a little bit of confusion. 

Aleksander smiled and climbed up on the bench to join them. Surprised, Isak scooted over until he bumped into Even, pressing them together from shoulder to hip to knee. Even’s right side burst into heat and it was almost enough to distract him from Aleksander’s unwanted presence. 

“So,” he asked, “what are you guys up to?”

Isak coughed into his fist and rolled his shoulders back. “Nothing. Just talking.”

“Ah.”

It was the third awkward silence since Even had sat down on that bench, but this one was by far the worst. He wanted to run away and leave it behind, but he was also irritated that he wanted to run away. Why should he be the one to leave? It was Aleksander who had made things weird. 

“Hey,” Aleksander said, like he’d just remembered something. He was clearly speaking to Isak, making sure to lean forward to catch his eyes. “I don’t know if the guys told you, but my band is playing at a bar in Løkka on Saturday. You should come.”

Even only had half a second to think about what he was going to do before Isak could reply, and in the end, he surprised even himself. He bumped his shoulder against Isak’s casually. “I thought you said we were gonna work on our project.” He said it with confidence, like he hadn’t just made up a lie and forced Isak into it. 

Isak looked at him. His eyes were wide, confused. “ _Um_.” He dragged out the word. “Yeah, I did.” He was a terrible co-liar. Even wanted to smile in victory, but he didn’t. 

Aleksander was undeterred. “Well, we don’t go on until 10, so you should still be able to make it. If you want.”

“Yeah.” Isak twisted his hands together and nodded. “Uh, sure. Sounds cool.”

Aleksander leaned forward to look at Even. “You’re welcome to come too, man. And bring whoever you want. It’s gonna be sick.”

“Sick,” Even repeated under his breath. It was such a lame thing to say. And of course he played in a band. He skateboarded and wore ripped jeans and old band t-shirts, but it was clear that he cared, if his neat hair was anything to go by. 

He could have kissed Magnus for shouting at them right at that very moment, before another painful silence could settle in, with absolutely no regard for the heads that turned when he did. “Hey, get over here! Jonas is doing tricks!”

Isak sighed. “God,” he muttered, shifting forward until he could hop off the bench. Aleksander followed immediately, sliding off too. 

When Even made no move to go with them, Isak looked back. His eyes were shy, but he still held Even’s gaze. “Coming?” he asked. 

It made Even irrationally pleased that Isak cared if he came. “No. Maybe later. I’m gonna hang out here for a while.”

Aleksander shrugged and left him with a flippant “Later,” but Isak paused long enough for Even to notice. Although, he seemed to notice everything Isak did, really. 

Isak gave him a small, unsure smile that reminded him of the ones he’d given Even in his bedroom. 

When Isak walked away and caught up with Aleksander, Even paid attention to how much space was between their shoulders. He watched Isak’s back shift beneath his shirt. He watched the stride of his legs. He watched the way he held himself, like he was trying to shrink his tall frame into something smaller, less noticeable. 

When they reached the fence, he watched Isak roll his eyes—so obvious from even so far away—and playfully shove Mahdi for something he said. He watched Isak scratch at the back of his neck and he watched the hem of Isak’s hoodie pull up to expose the soft skin above his hip bone. 

He watched and he watched and he watched until his phone buzzed in his pocket, breaking the hypnosis. 

When he read the text that lit up his screen, he almost wasn’t sure how to feel. Surprised, yes. Happy. A little annoyed even. 

_Can we talk?_ Sonja had asked. 

Five days. It turned out that five days was “a few days.” Five days was enough for her to want his attention again. 

He supposed this was better than him having to do all the work. At least this was her trying to do her part in the mess she’d helped create. Even if she had disrupted his one day of complete freedom, he had to feel a little pleased that it was her who had given in first. 

Isak’s bright laugh suddenly sounded out, reaching him over the distance. Even looked up to see him throw his head back, golden waves swishing, before he once more flicked the swoop of hair out of his eye. The bubbles in Even’s chest rose like an overflowing flute. 

He opened the message and typed without looking down. _I’ll call you in an hour_ , he wrote. He watched Isak. _I’m busy right now._


	7. Like Fire and Powder

Even was tracing the jagged indentation of his most recent sketch when he got the call. His phone came alive, danced across the glossy wooden top of his desk, buzzing wildly. Its face blinked awake from darkness, suddenly shining with the picture of Sonja’s smiling face that he so rarely saw anymore. The panic red of the _Decline_ button glared at him like the eye of God. 

Even watched it for a second or two longer, just long enough that his heart began to pinch. Sonja stared back at him. He’d taken that picture on the 17th of May; she was all dressed up in her bunad, hair twisted in a braid, and so, so happy. Only now, Even could swear the longer he looked, the more judgement he saw in her eyes. It was the same kind of cold calculation she unleashed against him whenever she suspected he was slipping or lying or doing anything she didn’t like or approve of. 

His skin crawled. He didn’t want that unyielding stare on him anymore. Almost couldn’t stand the way it made him feel—small, caught, impossibly young, transparent even. So he picked up the phone, let it shimmy in his palm. He counted the vibrations: four, five, six, seven... 

His thumb mashed hard against the green _Accept_ circle, turning his nail white for a split second before the blush rushed back in a spill of pink. 

By the time he’d stood from his desk, walked out the door, and pressed the phone to his ear, Sonja was halfway through her “Hello?” Her voice was sweet and groggy, the kind he used to hear in the mornings when they first started dating and sleepovers were had for fun rather than out of convenience. 

“Hey,” Even said back. He leaned against the wall outside of the classroom, the ball of his shoulder rolling uncomfortably. “What are you doing up?” It was too early for her to be awake. The sun probably hadn’t even winked above the horizon in California yet, leaving the night sky dark and twinkling with stars. 

“I wanted to make sure we could talk before we were both too busy later.”

“Talk about what?” Suspicion and anxiety seemed to go hand in hand for him these days. That moment was no different, swooping through him so sharply he got a bellyache. The sick phantom feeling of nausea rose up in his throat. 

Sonja made a noise that was mostly humor, but also a little bit of exasperation. Like his wariness was silly and unwarranted. “About anything, babe. Don’t you remember how to do that?”

 _Not with you_ , he thought unkindly. He regretted the thought immediately. Since she’d reached out to him on Sunday, Sonja had done her best to reconstruct the bridge between them, nailing every plank back in its rightful place. She called and she texted, sent him a few pictures and asked him about his day. It was almost like the old Sonja was there. 

If it weren’t for the “arrangement” hovering above them both like a storm cloud swollen with rain and charged with lightning. 

Their phone call Sunday evening had been healing, yes. But it had also been reaffirming—and not in the way Even might have liked. Sonja had reiterated the entire point of their open arrangement: “We’re not only long distance, Even. We’re in different timezones. Different _continents_. Our relationship is so different right now. And it’s not always going to be this way. It’s not! But for right now, we both deserve the freedom to be, well, _free._ You agreed to this before we left, so we either stick to it or…”

She never finished her sentence. And she didn’t need to because Even heard it loud and clear: “Or we break up.” In that moment, panic had seized him so fast and so tight, he thought he might pass out from it. _No, no, no, no_ , he’d thought immediately, trying to think of anything he could do to reverse the unspoken threat lingering in the air. Fear was right there alongside the panic, and anxiety too, until it was all he could do to stay present and calm enough to talk. 

He didn’t stay calm. A few tears were shed and he’d told her that he didn’t want to break up. He loved her; he needed her. The time she had been gone had been rough certainly, and the upcoming months would be difficult too, but he was willing to endure them. For her. 

So she’d repeated the rules. Sighed in gratitude, told him she loved him, and repeated the rules. For whose benefit, he was unsure, but the allowances to his own relationship were branded into the meat of his brain, never to be forgotten. He was sure of that. 

“And no more trying to break them,” she’d added at the last minute. “It will only breed resentment between us.”

Her voice was easier now, not at all like the one from Sunday. It was almost like a different person. “What are you up to?” she asked him quickly. In the background, her bed creaked as she shifted. 

Even tried to remember how he used to talk to Sonja. How he hadn’t second-guessed every syllable he uttered for fear of accidentally instigating an argument or, worse, a break. He’d only just been released from his punishment of a five-day silence and he wasn’t eager to earn it back. 

“I’m just waiting on my class to start,” he finally said. School was a safe topic. Sonja liked school. 

“Oh!” Her tone was bright yellow, like she was waking up. Like she was sunshine. “Which class is this again?”

“The Gothic class.”

Sonja sighed dreamily. “God, I miss school.” There was a pause. “I wish I was there with you.”

Even was surprised—maybe even shocked. How long had it been since Sonja expressed such longing? How long had it been since she’d actually meant it? It made a thrill twirl down his chest and around his ribs, dancing between each bone. Maybe they could really do this—have their arrangement and have their relationship too. What harm could come to them now with her rules in place and them both in full agreement? 

He might have even said “I do too” had his attention not suddenly been snagged by the lean figure appearing in his peripheral vision. 

Something flicked on in his brain as his eyes lifted. 

Isak was walking toward him—toward their classroom. He was bobbing his head along to music, headphones a white tangle beneath his chin, his lips moving to form the words. He had his head ducked. He wasn’t looking at Even. But Even couldn’t see anything else. 

When Even took in his clothes, he smiled. It was the same soft grey hoodie and sweatpants he’d worn the night Even had come over to Isak’s apartment, the same clothes that had just briefly brushed against his own when he ran his palm up Isak’s neck and his fingers over Isak’s knee. Only this time Isak has pulled a black Obey snapback over his curls—facing forward, a little askew, the brim crooked over his forehead. It made him look young. And impossibly cute. 

When he glanced up and caught Even staring, he startled a bit. Yanked his headphones out of one ear and smiled. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Even said back, smiling automatically. 

“Hey?” Sonja echoed in his ear in confusion. 

“Shit, sorry,” he said to Sonja, keeping his eyes on Isak. “That wasn’t meant for you.”

Isak’s eyes flicked down to the phone pressed to Even’s ear and realization sobered his face. _Sorry_ , he mouthed, slipping by him so closely that Even could smell his laundry detergent. 

“Who was it for?” Sonja asked. 

“Just a-” Even cleared his throat. “A friend.” 

“Oh, who?” 

“Uh…” He didn’t want to tell her and he knew it was irrational. It wasn’t as if she would find out what he’d done if he said Isak’s name. And even if she could, she wouldn’t care—at least according to her own rules. And yet, he was reluctant. Injecting Isak so directly into his relationship felt wrong. 

“Someone new,” he finally said. “You don’t know him.” Sonja definitely knew who Isak was, had even commented on Even’s cold attitude toward him a time or two. But he didn’t feel like discussing the change in his own approach to him now. Or probably ever. 

Sonja made a low noise of understanding. 

“Well, I think I have to go,” he said, peeking around the corner. Isak was almost to his seat. “Class is about to start.” He pulled back before he was caught. 

“We’ll talk later though?” She was trying. She was actually trying and that made a small, grateful smile appear on his face. 

“Yeah. Yeah, we will.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

After they hung up, Even took a minute to digest the conversation. It was entirely pointless, but it had still been nice. And it meant a lot to him that the only point of the conversation was to talk mindlessly. Since Sonja had gotten the internship, their entire relationship revolved around California. And it seemed as if she had finally recognized that and was attempting to rectify the problem. 

Of course, all their problems weren’t solved. There was still the core issue of the arrangement itself and why Sonja felt compelled to suggest it—beyond the excuse of “freedom” and distance. There was also _that_ photo still posted on her Instagram and the mystery guy attached to her cheek. And there was Isak too. 

But there were also two different voices in his head. Sonja’s repeating the rules, straightforward and no-nonsense—and Isak’s telling him to take it minute by minute, soft and kind. And as difficult as it was to reconcile both sets of words, what with his penchant for overthinking and self-punishment, he was trying to do it. Truly. Take the arrangement and his relationship minute by minute.

So when he crossed back over the classroom threshold, he tried to shed Sonja and any relationship worries completely from his mind in order to focus only on the present. In that minute, his eyes found Isak at his usual seat in the far back corner. He was hunched over his own desk, phone turned vertical, thumbs moving violently. The tip of his tongue was caught at the corner of his mouth in concentration. 

Even walked toward him, picking up his bag on the way. When Isak sensed someone approaching, he glanced up, eyes narrowing in curiosity as he watched Even drop his bag to the floor with a careless thud and slide into the seat beside him. 

Even smiled. “Mind if I sit here?”

Isak shook his head. “No.” He clicked the button on the side of his phone and the screen went black. 

“So, uh-” Even licked his lips for courage. It had been three days since the park, three days since he’d made up his hasty lie about Isak’s plans for Saturday. He and Isak had barely spoken since then—just a quick nod or a shared smile along with a few exchanged words. But Even was sick of scraps; he was hungry. 

He began again. “So, are we still working on our project this Saturday?” From experience, he knew that saying things with unadulterated confidence worked far better than hesitating or relying on indirection. 

Isak blinked once, twice, three times as he remembered. “You were serious about that?”

“Of course!” Even feigned insult, clutching his heart, trying to make it light. He wasn’t sure what he would say if Isak asked him _why_ he had lied in the first place. “I don’t know about you, Isak, but I actually care about my grades.” 

Isak scoffed. “Excuse you, I get perfect grades. I’m, like, the master of them even.”

Even had trouble killing his smirk. Isak was...entertaining. Cute. “The master, huh?”

“Yes.” He lifted his chin haughtily. His lips were pink and bitten. Even thought it might be nice to kiss him like that. Even thought he probably shouldn’t be thinking that when he’d just told his girlfriend he loved her. 

“I guess it’s a good thing you’re my partner then.”

It was difficult to tell, but Even thought that he could see just a little bit of pink bloom on the sweep of Isak’s cheeks. It was a beautiful juxtaposition of the pale pink of a rose petal spreading over honey gold. 

“Yep,” Isak eventually said, pulling out his notebook when the professor walked into the room. “You’re lucky.”

“I am,” Even agreed. He didn’t bother to take out his own. “So, Saturday?”

“Okay.”

“Yeah?”

Isak hummed, nodded. “We can, uh-” He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “There’s a diner near my apartment that has good breakfast. We could work there?”

Even was instantly disappointed. Breakfast wasn’t exactly promising when it came to opportunities for fun. It also ensured that they would be wide open for Aleksander’s “concert” later that night. 

“I thought you didn’t get up early on weekends?”

“Yeah, well…” Isak smiled. “Wouldn’t want to ruin my grades by sleeping in. Besides, if I’m at home, Eskild will wake me up anyway to make me hear about his Grindr date, so really, you’d be saving me.”

Even grinned, though the disappointment still lingered in the background. “What if I want to tell you about _my_ Grindr date?”

Isak narrowed his eyes, but his mouth was still tipped in amusement. “You don’t strike me as the Grindr type.”

“And how would you know what a ‘Grindr type’ looks like?”

“I live with one,” Isak reminded him. 

“It sounds like you’re jealous,” Even teased. It didn’t, but Even liked when Isak became indignant, when he scrunched his nose and took offense. 

Isak didn’t disappoint that time. “Me? Jealous? Definitely not.”

“I don’t know.” Even drew the last word out, doused it in doubt. “Are you bitter that you haven’t gotten any matches?”

Isak rolled his eyes. “I don’t even _have_ a Grindr.”

“Pity,” Even said, absolutely thrilled with just the mere act of teasing Isak, playing with him. “I might have swiped right on you.”

“That’s Tinder,” Isak pointed out, but there was a brilliant gleam to his eyes that made Even’s throat tight with contentment. It had been so long since he had flirted, he’d nearly forgotten how intoxicating it could be—especially when it was reciprocated. And flirting with Isak was particularly fun, if only for the way he responded with playful outrage and exaggerated eye rolls.

As the professor called attention to the class, Even saw his opportunity slipping. He leaned closer to Isak, but not too close that it would be obvious. Just close enough that he could hear Even’s voice over the professor. 

“Text me when and where.” Isak looked up and Even raised his brows playfully. “For Saturday. And I’ll be there.” 

Isak’s eyes dropped to Even’s mouth for not even a slice of a moment before he hurriedly looked away. “Okay.”

 _It’s a date_. The thought popped into his mind without his permission. He didn’t say it loud.

* * *

Thursday and Friday passed by like dripping molasses. Each day that dawned, Even willed it to go faster, to shift from sun to moon in mere minutes instead of hours. However, nothing could capture his attention—not homework, hanging out with friends, video games, music. Not even Sonja, who seemed intent on including him in that week’s happenings. 

It was completely and totally maddening, wreaking havoc on Even’s already threadbare patience. 

When Saturday morning finally dawned, Even was nearly sick with the anticipation. He’d woken far too early with his stomach flipped and his bones all jittery. Breakfast shouldn’t have even been that exciting, but Even chalked it up to his being starved of flirting with pretty faces and his near-constant boners. 

The diner Isak had chosen was small, a little retro, done up in strips of silver and lacquered red. When Even pushed through the door, he was met with the overwhelming scent of toasted sugar and hot coffee. The diner was busy, crammed with loud customers and waiters and waitresses zipping back and forth with precarious trays balanced on their palms. 

Even found Isak in a booth at the front. It was outlined by a window that framed the grey gloom of the day. He was studying a massive laminated menu, green eyes flicking back and forth quickly. 

“Hey,” Even announced himself before sliding into the booth opposite him. 

Isak dropped the menu. Even immediately took notice of his shirt. It was clearly old—or maybe vintage, but Even found it difficult to believe that Isak would buy his clothes deliberately distressed just for the sake of _style_. _The Simpsons_ graphic across the front was faded, more of a pastel suggestion than an image at that point. It was apparent that he’d worn it to death, if the tiny smattering of holes at the seam of the collar were any indication. 

It was kind of cute. In a grungy way. 

“A fan?” he asked, just to start a conversation that wasn’t about their project. 

Isak followed Even’s eyes and looked down at his own chest. “Oh.” He laughed shakily, as if he was embarrassed. “Yeah, I guess.”

“It’s a funny show,” Even granted. 

Isak was nodding, but the way he bit his lip and glanced toward the menu once more screamed timidity. Even didn’t want that. He wanted the Isak who smiled and teased and laughed—the one who looked back at him. 

“So, what’s good here?”

A health junkie, it seemed, Isak was not. Which was extremely perplexing given how his body looked half-naked in swim trunks and shorts. 

“The deluxe pancakes are good and so is the French toast. But my favorite is the cinnamon bun platter.”

“Platter?” Even echoed in concern. 

Isak snorted. “Yep. They come covered in icing too.” He glanced down at Even’s mouth and back up so quickly Even almost missed it. “You can try some of mine if you want.”

Even’s stomach flipped painfully—not at the food, but at Isak himself. “Sure. Yeah. That sounds good.” He opened up his own menu just to relieve himself of the very attention he’d been seeking all week. 

It was quiet then. Awkward. Somehow the silence was more powerful against the din of the diner around them. There were people everywhere, talking and laughing, some at a normal volume and some boisterous. Talking about food and politics and jokes. And then there was them: two quiet islands adrift in the sea. 

It was almost a relief when the waitress, a springy little high school girl, came by to take their orders. She couldn’t stop staring at Isak and Even couldn’t blame her. When she’d written down both of their orders, she skipped away, casting one last look over her shoulder. 

Isak was completely unaware, which almost made it sweeter. When he glanced up and saw Even’s eyes already on him and his mouth stretched wide in amusement, he smiled back, albeit in confusion. “What?”

“Nothing.” Even shook his head, but couldn’t stop the smile. Instead of throwing the poor girl under the bus, he reached into his bag and pulled out his notebook. “I guess we should brainstorm some ideas then.”

“Right.” Isak pulled out his own notebook. 

“We should do something about the blatant homosexuality,” Even said. Isak glanced up sharply. “In the book,” he clarified, though not without a teasing lilt to the words. 

Isak nodded while opening up a blank page. He took too long smoothing the new page down with the flat of his hand. “Yeah, okay.”

Isak wasn’t looking at him and Even didn’t like that. So he did what he almost always did when he was nervous but still wanted attention: he spun a lie. 

“Once I did this presentation on the homoeroticism in Gustave Doré’s illustrations and the professor loved it so much, he offered to give me a blowjob after class.”

Isak’s big eyes went even bigger. “Really?”

Even smiled. “No.” He liked the way Isak rolled his eyes when he’d been tricked. 

When Isak chuckled, he coughed against his hand, making his voice raspy. “Maybe if we do well, you’ll actually get one this time.”

Even’s brows shot up. His belly flipped. “What?”

It took Isak a moment to realize what he’d said. “From the professor! It was a- It was a fucking joke. Sorry. I- Yeah, sorry.”

Even laughed, totally delighted. But he could also see the red spilling across Isak’s cheeks, so he decided to have mercy. “Okay. Let’s get to work.”

They worked together in harmony for two hours straight, though admittedly Even was doing less working and brainstorming and more interviewing. Hearing Isak speak on his thoughts and opinions captured Even’s attention like nothing else.

He prodded and probed, encouraged Isak to expound on his ideas and challenged him on others. Isak was smart. Even had already known that as a fact. But it was something else entirely to see it exercised firsthand. 

When they were finished, Isak smoothly slipped the waitress his card and told her the entire bill was on him. Even would have stopped that right in its tracks had she not been so utterly enraptured by Isak. She walked away without even looking at Even. 

“You didn’t need to do that,” Even said when she was gone. 

Isak wouldn’t look at him. He studied his own finger tracing invisible shapes across the tabletop. “I mean, technically it’s my dad’s money, but…” He shifted in his seat. “I don’t mind.”

“Thank you,” Even said sincerely. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone aside from his parents had paid for his meal. “I guess I’ll owe you then.”

That made Isak look up. He tilted his head in confusion. “Okay...”

“I’ll buy you a drink at the bar tonight.”

Isak’s brows danced up. “You’re going?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Sure, none of Even’s friends were going apart from Jonas, Magnus, and Isak himself, but he didn’t think it was exactly _strange_ that he was going. At least not on the outside. 

“I don’t know.” Isak shrugged.

Even didn’t like the direction their conversation had taken, so he turned it back into a neutral zone. “When does the...thing start again?”

Isak frowned, pulled out his phone, and flicked through his messages. “Jonas wants to get there a little before Aleks goes on. So around 9:30.” The name “Aleks” fell so effortlessly from Isak’s lips; Even didn’t like the sound. 

“Should be fun.” He tried to mask his sarcasm with faux authenticity, but Isak didn’t seem to mind. 

“Yeah. If punk rock is your thing.”

Even smiled. “Well, sadly Nas texted and said he won’t be able to make it tonight, so punk rock is all we have.”

Isak rolled his eyes again. 

“Besides,” Even said, “I’ll be there.”

Isak lifted one brow. “And?”

Even leaned forward on his elbows, all smiles and eye contact. “I’ll make it fun.”

Isak let out a singular, silent chuckle that had little humor. “I don’t know if that’s a promise you’re allowed to make.”

“I’m hurt.” Even pouted, but the gleam in his eye couldn’t be masked. “Maybe I shouldn’t come then if you think so little of my abilities.”

“No,” Isak said a little quickly. He shifted in the booth, squirming for a moment. “No. Uh, you should still come.”

Something plucked Even’s heart from its cage and tossed it in the air. He wanted to smile so, so big, but he knew that would be strange. Damning even. So he settled on a little smirk that did nothing to convey how high on Isak he was at that moment. “Okay then. I’ll see you there tonight.”

Isak studied him for a long few seconds. “Yeah. Tonight.”

The next few hours were almost as bad as waiting for Thursday and Friday to pass. The minutes moved like years, inching along until Even forced himself to nap just to not have to suffer at the hands of time any longer. 

By the time he woke, he only had enough time to shower and get dressed before he had to leave. The bar was in the heart of Grünerløkka and it showed. Its face was a smattering of color: a bleeding rainbow arching above the doorway; the brick painted hot pink and black; its double doors smeared with white spray paint. 

That’s where Jonas was waiting for him. He leaned against the wall just outside the entrance. He was smoking a cigarette that burned ruby red in the night as he casually spoke with the bouncer, some scrawny hipster with half a dozen piercings in his left ear. 

“Hey, man,” Jonas said when Even approached. He stubbed his cigarette against the wall and flicked it away. 

The bouncer looked Even up and down. 

“Where is everyone?” Even asked, ignoring him. 

Jonas threw a thumb over his shoulder. “Magnus and Isak are inside. Got us a table. Come on.”

Even expected the bouncer to maybe stop him or even ask for his license, but he did neither. He simply looked Even up and down once more and let him pass, eyes following him all the way. 

As soon as they made their way through the entrance and into the bar, Even knew that it wasn’t his kind of place. It was ear-achingly loud, only a shade above pitch black, and reeked of cheap cigarettes and even cheaper beer. The walls were made of glossy black cement blocks plastered with illegible graffiti and, here and there, framed portraits of the bands who’d played there. It was utterly pretentious in a completely contrived kind of way. 

Admittedly, Even was no stranger to pretension—maybe even _was_ pretentious most of the time. He argued about cinematography and the right lighting in films, ornamented his walls with art and pages he’d ripped out of his favorite poetry collections, learned a little bit of French because he liked the way it fell off his tongue, wore Wu-Tang t-shirts and quoted Nas too much. 

This was in another league entirely. 

“Cool, huh?” Jonas shouted, leaning into him so that their shoulders pressed together hard. 

Even raised his brows but said nothing. He wished Mikael was there, if only to lock eyes with and make a face. Mikael would understand the depth of Even’s disdain for this place. 

Jonas said something over his shoulder and walked away. Even had no choice but to follow, knocking shoulders every so often with boys and girls half his size. 

Jonas led him to the far left of the room where tall pub tables were lined up against the wall in perfect view of the stage ahead, each one surrounded by a cluster of stools. Even spotted Isak immediately. 

He was leaning against a table that was four or five back from the stage. At first it was hard to make him out, what with the congestion of people and the dim room, but the closer they got, the better Even saw him. 

He was dressed head to toe in black: a baggy Public Enemy No. 1 t-shirt, black jeans, and black Vans. Even thought the darkness suited him. It made the luster of his golden hair all the more bright in that room.

When he turned and saw them approaching, Even saw that his cheeks were flushed, cheekbones dewy. He looked hot—in more ways than one.

Unfortunately, Even was so focused on Isak that he didn’t notice the others at the table until the very last second. There was Magnus, already three beers deep judging by the congregation of empties around him, and then Aleksander, the supposed man of the hour. 

“Even!” Magnus shouted. “You made it!”

Aleksander’s hand came down on Even’s shoulder. It was a casual touch, one you’d give a friend. Even had to force himself not to twist out of reach. 

“Thanks for coming, man,” Aleksander was saying. Even caught Isak’s eyes as Aleksander continued: “Should be a sick show tonight.”

Even waited until the last second to look back at Aleksander. He put on a fake smile. “Looking forward to it.”

Aleksander picked up a glass of golden liquid and threw it back, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Well, it’s about time for me to head back.”

“Good luck, dude,” Jonas told him sincerely. 

“Yeah, rock on!” Magnus tucked his thumb and his ring finger into his palm. 

Isak groaned long and hard. “That’s the shocker, you dumbass.” Even ducked his chin and tried to hide his laugh against his shoulder, but Isak caught it anyway. He looked pleased. 

“Eh, it’s okay.” Aleksander gave Magnus a brief side hug. “That’ll do too.” Even watched him look at Isak and wink conspiratorially. 

The breakfast Even had eaten with Isak that morning soured in his belly. He could feel his lip curl tightly as Aleksander left, brushing by Even as he did. Where their shoulders touched, Even’s skin crawled. Before he could help it, he wiped his palm along the spot, as if he could wipe away the phantom touch. 

Suddenly he needed a drink. He needed it soon. _Now_. 

“I’m going to the bar,” he blurted out. He shed his jacket and draped it over a chair. “Does anyone want anything?” He didn’t even wait to hear their answers. Instead, he began to make his way to the bar.

It turned out to be a voyage. Either the venue was popular or Aleksander’s band was—either way, the place was beyond packed. It didn’t help that the floor was disgusting, sticky and coated with spilt alcohol and cigarette butts. 

He had to shove his way through clusters of hipsters, slipping past where he could and pushing where he couldn’t. When he was almost to the bar, he got stuck and a pretty girl tried striking up a conversation, but he ignored her and continued forward. 

By the time he made it, he was half-exhausted. There were no seats available, so he slipped himself between a petite girl in baby pink velvet and a boy with sunglasses on. 

There were two bartenders—girls—running back and forth behind the bar. A dozen voices called out to them, some with drink orders, others just catcalling. Even didn’t bother adding his voice to the mix. He waited instead, watched the urgency around the bar dwindle after five or ten minutes until one of the bartenders finally locked eyes with him. 

Her black-lined eyes were glittering and she smirked as she approached. “What can I get you, handsome?”

Even might have smirked back had half his mind not been left back at that table with a boy in a black shirt. “Johnnie Walker Black on the rocks. And a Ringnes,” he added at the last second.

Suddenly, there was a loud noise onstange. The microphone squealed and there was a chorus of _ooh_ s as people cringed and flinched. Even turned and watched the stage flood with a neon blue light that was much too harsh for the darkness of the bar. A pale pink would have worked better, he thought, as four guys stepped into the light. 

The singer had a wilting mohawk that was lit on cobalt fire as he took his place at the microphone stand. His body was a canvas of tattoos on display beneath a Sex Pistols shirt that was more tank top than shirt and heinously ripped jeans. The guitarist had long brown hair that swept around his bare ribcage and gauges the size of tea plates; his guitar was flaming red undulled by the stage lights and striped with white. The bassist was the complete opposite: buzzed head and a clean face but for the eyeliner smeared above and beneath his lashes, dressed in a long sleeve shirt and combat boots. 

The drummer—the last of them all—was Aleksander himself. He took a seat behind the glimmering silver set and twirled a drumstick through the fingers of his right hand. He had put on a snapback much like the ones Isak always wore, turned backward so his entire face was on display. His dancing eyes matched the smile on his face as he looked over at the table Even knew Isak, Jonas, and Magnus were at. 

Even scowled. There was just something about Aleksander that rubbed him wrong. He wasn’t sure if it was the way he comported himself so breezily or how desperate he seemed for attention. Or maybe it was the way he fit into that pretentiously “unpretentious” bar so easily—like he himself was contrived, trying too hard, attempting to be dark and mysterious when really all he was was average. 

A sweating glass bumped against Even’s knuckles. The bartender smirked at him again, silver lip piercing shifting up. 

Even slid a bill over the wet counter, watching it soak up whatever it was that had pooled on the bartop. “Thanks,” he mouthed, taking the glass and the bottle, and pushed away from the bar. 

Getting back to the table proved even more difficult than getting to the bar. As the singer introduced the band—“We are Kama!”—Even pushed his way through the thickening crowd, shoving past knobby shoulders and avoiding the sweaty hands of some groping girls. By the time he made it back to the table, he felt as if he’d crossed the universe. 

He stepped up beside Isak and sipped from his glass. The whiskey burned like a winter fire down his throat, sending warmth cascading through his chest and stomach. 

Isak looked at him sideways. Magnus had disappeared into the cheering crowd in excitement and Jonas didn’t seem far behind, standing with one foot still hooked behind him on the stool railing, enraptured by the sharp trill the guitarist played out in welcome. 

Even looked back at Isak and gave him a small smile. Those green eyes shifted down to the tumbler in his hand and back up. 

“Want some?” Even asked, more of an imitation of words than anything as the first song geared up—loud right from the start. 

Isak hesitated a moment before nodding. He took the glass and, when their fingertips slid together, Even’s belly swooped. 

Isak grimaced as he took a sip. He swallowed and his scowl went deeper, lips slick and shiny. Even wondered if whiskey tasted better on Isak’s mouth. 

“Good?” he teased. 

“Huh?” 

Even leaned close—probably too close, much closer than what was needed—and put his mouth against Isak’s ear. “Did you like it?” His lips tickled where they brushed against the curling tips of his hair. 

Isak pulled back and shook his head, one brow cocked as if in disbelief that Even would even ask such a question. 

Even pushed forward again, liking the way the tips of Isak’s curls brushed his mouth. “Here.” The hand holding the beer had been swaying by his side, so he lifted it right before Isak’s eyes. 

Isak pulled back and his eyes hooked on the bottle. He glanced at Even, confused. “For me?”

“For you.”

“You didn’t have to.” 

“I wanted to,” Even said in a shout that was swallowed whole by the blaring music. “I owed you, remember?”

One corner of Isak’s mouth pulled up in a crooked half-smile. His green eyes were dark, yet still glittering. When he took the bottle from Even, he made sure to tangle their fingers for a second. “Thanks.” 

Even smiled back, charmed, even as Isak turned to face the stage. Even continued to watch him.

Isak pursed his pink lips in a kiss against the glass rim. Completely bewitched by the sight, Even watched Isak’s throat work as he pulled from the bottle, the bones shifting under the skin, hypnotized by the way they moved when he swallowed. When he pulled the bottle away, he did so in a way that dragged against his mouth, pulling it down until Even could catch the pink glisten of the inside of his bottom lip. He remembered what that part of Isak tasted like and that memory sent a hot flush through his gut that had nothing to do with the bar or the crowd. 

Isak leaned against the wall casually; the move shouldn’t have been attractive, but coming from Isak it was. When he saw Even studying him, he dropped his eyes, pretended to be looking at something on the floor before he chanced another glance up. This time, it was Even who looked away. He wasn’t exactly sure that he could handle Isak looking back at him in that moment. Not if he didn’t want to do something about it—and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to ever do that again, despite his numerous fantasies about doing exactly that. 

He was almost grateful for the unintelligible noise onstage. At least it prohibited his focus from being solely dedicated to Isak the way it might have been in silence. As it was, his eyes were still dying to find him once more. 

Maybe another glance wouldn’t hurt. 

He looked over. Isak was rubbing the rim against his bottom lip now, making it pout as he pulled the bottle left and right. The very tip of his tongue flicked against it before he took another drink. Even tapped him on the shoulder before he could think twice. 

Isak raised his brows. 

“Can I have some?” Just a taste couldn’t hurt. 

Isak looked like he was considering something, but he nodded anyway. He handed the bottle over, watched Even’s mouth as he took a sip, and took it back before reluctantly forcing his eyes away once more. 

Even wanted Isak to look at him again, but he didn’t think there was any way to ensure that without embarrassing himself by being so obvious. At least more than he probably already had. 

So he watched the set. Or tried to. He took the seat closest to the wall and sat halfway on the stool—one foot propped up on the bar running between its legs, the other planted firm and flat on the sticky floor. 

The set was borderline awful. Perhaps it could have been good if Even could understand a pattern or discern a rhythm. He had lost track of what number song the band was on. The newest one was something fast-paced, violent even. It was full of screaming guitars and clashing drums that piled on top of one another until all Even could hear was a sharp cacophony of metal and strings layered over top of the singer’s shredded voice. 

The crowd was going wild for it though. It seemed the pure chaos of the music inspired the same reaction in its spectators. The entire crowd moved like a living thing, swelling and shrinking like the tide rolling forward over the shoreline before receding back into the ocean. From his high seat at the table, Even could see all its movement—the violent rush forward, the clog of people, the people up front grasping at the stage edge, an impatient person or two pushing back at someone too close. 

It was a little ridiculous, Even thought. Or maybe a lot. It wasn’t as if this was Led Zeppelin or the Rolling Stones, rock icons who frankly would have deserved eager fingers reaching for them. These were just some random dudes playing music that was much too loud to discern if they were actually any good. 

As the song built to a frenzied climax, completely overpowered by Aleksander’s frantic drumming, the crowd grew wilder. Infrequent shoving became more frequent. A small whirlpool of people at the front sent ricochets of violence spiraling around them. Elbows were planted in guts and fists wrapped around shirt collars. As the song climbed higher, so too did the agitation in the air until it seemed to reach even the tables by the wall. 

The guitarist played a complicated riff and whipped his long hair around in a tornado. The crowd went mad. Like a wave, it undulated, pushing back and forth, jostling everything and everyone in its wake. On a particularly strong surge backward, Isak stumbled, slapping his palm against the wall to avoid falling. 

The crowd moved forward, then back again. This time, Isak was caught in it. Rather than stumble, he staggered, jostled hard from the force of it. He righted himself, only to be pushed back again by two guys shoving at one another angrily. 

On instinct, Even leaned forward and put both hands on Isak’s hips, stabilizing him. Isak went still beneath his touch. For a second or two he didn’t do anything. Then he turned his chin slightly—not to look at Even, but rather as an acknowledgement or perhaps an accidental response. 

The two guys got closer for a moment, tangling together until they knocked to the ground heavily. Even pulled Isak a tiny step backward—closer to him—even though their vicious tussle had now moved them a few feet away, back into the thick of the crowd. 

That would have been the time to remove his hands from Isak’s body. He had done his part in helping. And Isak was a twenty-year old guy in the physical prime of his life; he didn’t need Even to protect or stabilize him. And yet, Even didn’t move. He kept his hands on the flat of Isak’s hips, just holding them there. 

Isak was completely frozen under his hands. He did not move, looked unsettlingly still against the chaos of the crowd. It was almost as if he was forcing himself not to move—like even a twitch would...

Even wasn’t sure what Isak’s intentions were. He didn’t even know what _his_ were. 

The crowd surged again. But this time, Isak moved back of his own accord, taking a backward step closer toward Even. He wondered if he should just stop this right now. He didn’t even know why he felt compelled to keep holding on.

He wondered if he was making Isak wildly uncomfortable. 

To test his suspicion, he let one of his hands drop to his own lap and moved his other higher, fitting it above the hard v-line of Isak’s left hip. God, he thought suddenly, he bet Isak looked amazing naked. Even had seen him in swim trunks and those white shorts, so he knew Isak had a cut body. But take away the bottoms...

Isak shifted. Not out from under his touch, but back into it. It was subtle, yet deliberate. Isak moved his weight from his left foot to his right so his hip softly touched against the inside of Even’s knee. Something wonderful shot from that place where they touched up through his thigh and to his groin. The new tingling in his cock felt both horrible and crazy good against the unforgiving fit of his tight jeans. 

If Isak’s move was calculated, maybe he didn’t mind Even’s hand on him after all. Maybe he wouldn’t mind if Even put the other one back. Maybe Even didn’t need to overanalyze what exactly it was that he was doing in that minute. 

Slowly, much too carefully, Even touched his fingers of his right hand to the side of Isak’s thigh, right above where it was leaning against Even’s knee. Isak’s body made a quick movement. But it wasn’t a flinch—more of a jolt. 

A jolt could be a good thing, he thought. 

He decided to keep going. He fit his palm around the outside of Isak’s thigh and ran it up the side, watching the back of Isak’s neck for any movement or reaction at all. His jeans were surprisingly soft against Even’s skin, well-worn and washed too many times. When he got to the waist, he let half his hand push under the hem of Isak’s shirt to touch the bare skin of his hip. But instead of skin, Even found the elastic band of Isak’s boxers. 

It was almost sexier that way. Because then Even could imagine taking them off. 

_Calm the fuck down_ , he told himself angrily. He didn’t move, but he did his best to dispel all thoughts of what was beneath those boxers he was touching. 

As soon as Even had snuck his hand under the hem of Isak’s shirt, Isak leaned harder against Even’s knee—so very purposeful. This move was not subtle. It was half of Isak’s weight pushing against Even, a response of his own. “Your move,” it said. 

Even shifted back on the stool, sitting entirely on its seat. He tightened his grip on Isak’s hips and pulled him back an inch—though it was less of a pull and more of a hint of a movement, so slight it might not have been noticeable had both Isak and Even not been completely tuned into this...exchange or whatever the hell this was. 

Isak rested the beer bottle on the crown of Even’s knee, hand sliding down the wet length of it until it too was pressing against him. The cold seeping through his jeans was a shock to the heat boiling in his throat, in his palms, in his pants. 

Even almost felt sick with the want, but he was also completely devoted to the game. He found that he liked this Isak too—the one who not only played back, but matched Even for every move and left him scrambling for what to do next. 

He knew what he wanted to do now. _What do I want to do in this moment?_ He didn’t even need to ask himself. 

Even opened his legs wider and pulled Isak back the few inches that were left separating them until he was leaning back into the cradle of Even’s lap. He went willingly, even adjusted, shifting his hips so he could lean more solidly against Even. The move put Even’s chin at Isak’s shoulder, his nose at Isak’s ear. His hands were spread wide on either side of Isak’s body. 

They sat together like that, still as statues, for a minute or two. Not moving, just holding their positions. That is, until Isak gained some courage or perhaps succumbed to the need to roll out the stiffness in his body. He lifted some of his weight off Even’s lap only to slide higher up, pushing his ass all along the half-hard length of Even’s dick. 

Even’s breath went shallow. The tingling had morphed into a full-blown flood of pure arousal. His tight pants began to get even tighter. 

Isak relaxed his spine, melting further into Even’s chest. He almost couldn’t believe how turned on he was getting just from sitting like that, with Isak fitted into his body. As it was, his entire lap was on fire in the best of ways and his dick was almost completely hard, thankfully pushed off to the side so Isak couldn’t feel how much he affected Even—hopefully. 

He was dying to move even a little bit, but he wasn’t sure if he could. His mind assaulted him with the thought of Sonja, so he closed his eyes and willed the image to go away. _Minute by minute_ , he repeated to himself. 

In that minute, he felt like moving. So he did. 

He sat up straighter and purposely pulled Isak more firmly against him. Ran one hand halfway down Isak’s thigh and moved the other higher up Isak’s waist. From his vantage point, chin hooked over Isak’s shoulder, he could make out the shuddering breath Isak exhaled as he stared straight ahead, staring at nothing. Even liked that breath; it made him feel powerful. And bold. 

Even tilted his head and his lips accidentally brushed against the velvet-soft curve of Isak’s neck, right below his ear. They were close enough that Even could smell his skin, so he took a deep breath and then exhaled it right back out. Isak shivered hard, the shiver moving down his body like a snake, echoing against Even. 

In that minute, he decided, he wanted to touch his mouth to Isak’s skin again. On purpose this time. 

Even brushed his lips over that same spot once more. Only this time it was intentional. Like those kisses in Isak’s window sill. A firm open-mouthed kiss below Isak’s ear that had Isak gripping Even’s left knee like he was hanging on for his life. The startle of his movement pushed his ass harder into Even’s lap and it nearly drove him crazy. 

He wanted to kiss Isak right then—just like they had in Isak’s bedroom. And he might have done it right there, might have turned Isak’s head to meet in a sideways kiss, if he weren’t aware that Jonas was still close and that Magnus was somewhere nearby too. 

So he did the only thing he could think of in order to get what he wanted while also keeping their privacy. 

He put his lips at Isak’s ear, much like he had earlier, and asked, “Do you want to go get some fresh air?”

Isak didn’t answer for one long moment. Just stayed still. Looking ahead. Breathing raggedly. 

And then he turned his head, just a fraction so Even’s mouth accidentally slid across the cut of his cheekbone. He looked sideways into Even’s eyes, green mirrors that reflected back at Even all the fiery lust he felt building within his own body. 

“Yeah,” he mouthed. He licked his lips, slick bubblegum pink. “I do.”


	8. Half-Tones of the Soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's hard to believe that this chapter is nearly 10,000 words. I have worked on this monster every day since the last update. It was an especially difficult one to get through and I don't know why. All I can say is that I'm sorry it took two weeks again. But I hope it reads well for you all and that you enjoy!

September faded like smoke. Weeks passed. And October emerged in a show of rich color: russet red and deep crimson, warm sunset gold and feuille morte, fiery orange and vibrant amber. The green of summer was fading quickly, leaving behind a beautiful kind of death. 

Leaves shifted to gold, garnet, ginger, their soft edges turning brittle. They coated the sidewalks of Oslo in a crisp layer, crunching beneath Even’s shoes wherever he walked. There were piles of them in every corner of the city and he had to force himself not to sink his hands into their crackling mass just like he did as a child. 

The emboldened sun seemed to have retired as well. It hid behind its wreath of pale grey clouds, turning the air crisp as a bite of a harvest apple. Even liked to tuck his hands within the sleeves of his sweaters and, on particularly chilly days, pull a scarf around his throat and chin. The best days were when the wind spiraled around him like a stray ballerina as he clutched a cup of coffee, the warmth seeping in slowly and not nearly enough.

It was his absolute favorite time of the year. So while others complained about and shied away from the cold, he embraced it. Felt it shiver down his body and pull a blush from his cheeks. Felt it sweep over his exposed skin like a lover’s kiss as he burrowed deeper into cottons, cashmeres, and wool. It made him want to burrow into someone else too. 

He loved touching in autumn. Soft hugs. Palm to palm. The warmth of skin on skin amidst the chill. The heat of lips on lips. And while he loved autumn, he also hated it that year. Because it made him ache for what he was missing, for what he did not have. For wanting the touch and smiles of another person when his own was across an ocean. 

Secretly, he hated Sonja a little too for making him hate the fall. 

“Do you think I’m overreacting?” Mutta asked suddenly, pausing his tirade beneath the heavy orange canopy of a short hickory tree. He looked at Even expectantly, brows raised high to meet the hem of his beanie. 

They were making their way to a little restaurant near campus to meet the boys for an early dinner. And while Even had gotten lost in the magic of autumn in Oslo, Mutta had been ranting about the C his business professor had given him on his latest test. Even had lost focus around the third or fourth grievance. 

In lieu of an actual answer, he simply hummed in acknowledgement, hoping that would suffice. 

It did. Mutta said, “Exactly!” with a renewed sort of energy and continued to purge all his thoughts and feelings as they combed through the streets like everyone else that day. 

As they walked, Even tried to tune into Mutta’s words. But he was eventually lost once more to the splendor around them, surrendering to his own childlike wonder as he searched for the driest leaves to step on, just to hear the sound of their spines crunch beneath the soles of his shoes. He kicked up a particularly thick flurry of them and watched a few dance away on a ribbon of wind, mesmerized. 

When they finally walked into the restaurant—a small, casual place a few blocks from campus—he had to force himself not to react when he caught sight of blonde curls and a snapback. Almost immediately it felt as if all his organs shifted downward. His jaws began to tingle. Seeing Isak was a small buzz to the system—especially after what had almost happened less than a month ago. 

Conjuring up that memory was easier than breathing. 

Isak pressed into his lap. Guitars shrieking. Isak’s curls tickling his skin. The clogged heat of the crowd around them. Isak’s weight making his body feel heavy as pudding. 

“Do you want to go get some fresh air?” he’d whispered against Isak’s ear. “Yeah,” Isak had answered. “I do.”

Even had taken Isak’s hand and they’d hurried out of the bar with no regard for the people around them. It had taken more than a few shoves and elbows to get out of there, but when they did, they didn’t stop until they’d made their way to the far corner outside of the building. It was a small alcove completely abandoned for the show inside, lit by strings of warm yellow bulbs. 

Isak had pressed his back to the wall and Even stood barely a foot away. They’d looked at each other—eyes bright and dancing and wild—and shared breathless, excited smiles. 

And then Magnus had ruined it all. 

“Hey!” he’d called out, voice warbled and thick with the orange sick still clinging to his mouth. He was hunched over some battered bushes a stone’s throw away, looking utterly wrecked. Even hadn’t seen him at all when he’d pulled Isak there. He hadn’t seen anyone but Isak. 

Even never did kiss Isak that night. Nor any night that followed. And it seemed like that was what the universe wanted. 

Being alone with Isak was a feat—and an unaccomplished one at that. They had not been alone together since those few minutes running out of the show. Every moment Even was in Isak’s presence was also crowded by the presence of their mutual friends or classmates. And Even took that as a sign—a sign among many: Mutta interrupting them at the club, Eskild interrupting them in Isak’s bedroom, Magnus interrupting them outside of the bar. 

Even believed in signs. So, although he was disappointed that he and Isak had to step away from each other that night in order to help Magnus back inside, he saw it as inevitable. And he accepted it for what it was. 

In the weeks that followed, they danced around one another. It was awkward. It was unsure. He sat beside Isak in class and smiled when they met eyes across a room. But he no longer sought Isak out alone, didn’t go to parties and events just because he would be there. It was a new normal, one he wasn’t sure how to feel about.

And while his mind had accepted it, his body hadn’t caught up. So he swallowed down the sickness he felt swimming up like acid in his throat and followed Mutta down the aisle and toward the full table in the back.

They were the very last to arrive. Only two empty seats were left for them, shoved on either side of Magnus. Though Even harbored a little resentment toward him for ruining that night, he still gave Magnus a pat on the shoulder as he struggled into the seat between him and Mikael.

“Took you long enough,” Mikael said, eyeing him as he sat. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Even muttered. 

Across the table and a few seats down, Isak glanced at him over the rim of his glass of water. He offered Isak a small smile, which was barely returned before Mikael grabbed his attention again. 

“Eyes on me, lover boy.”

Even turned to Mikael, eyes wide. “Shut. Up.”

Mikael was clearly trying not to laugh at the desperation all over Even’s face. “Calm down,” he eventually said. His voice was lower. “No one even heard me.”

Even tried not to unpack what it meant that he was more upset by the possibility of people hearing him being called the playful name than he was by the name itself. Or the fact that Mikael was so comfortable teasing him about Isak. 

He tried to tune into the conversations around him—Adam was discussing the merits of shaving his head, Mutta was once more arguing against the unwarranted C on his business test, and Magnus was trying to decipher a text from Vilde—but he found it difficult when Isak was sitting just close enough to look at, but too far away to engage. 

He felt like a puppet—smiling when he was supposed to, making the appropriate gestures, regurgitating words that someone else had chosen for him. But inside... He was always aware of what Isak was doing. If he leaned on the table or picked up his glass, if he said something, if he stayed silent. 

He and Isak never acknowledged what they did that night in the bar...or what they were going to do. And it was that, coupled with the lack of any opportunity whatsoever of being alone—or least without all their friends in earshot—that made Even feel strange in Isak’s presence. A type of constant uneasiness that left him adrift, uncertain, consumed. 

Try as he might, none of his friends could capture his attention. They’d mostly moved on from individual conversations to talking about the upcoming fall break and the cabin trip some of them had been planning for the last two weeks. Even had been invited to go, but hadn’t accepted or declined, so he had little interest in the conversation. 

While they talked about beds and food and whatever else, he ate. Smiled when necessary. Thought about the weight of Isak in his lap. Thought about the way Sonja said “I love you” when she was tired. 

He eventually tired of pretending to listen and moved on to people-watching in order to stop himself from staring at Isak. He took note of the people that walked in and out of the restaurant, thought about the lives they led. Made up stories for them. Wondered if they had secrets like he did. 

It wasn’t until he’d followed the entire red length of one girl’s hair that he realized who it was. And it was too late. Astrid looked back, frowning slightly before her face lit up in recognition. She turned back to the two friends with her and pointed over to his table. 

“Shit,” he whispered to himself. He didn’t look back up, but he could see out of his periphery all three girls making their way over. 

It wasn’t until Mikael dug his elbow into Even’s ribs that he finally looked up. Astrid stood across the table, behind Mahdi’s back, staring right back at Even. The two girls that flanked her were vaguely familiar—perhaps casual friends of Sonja’s he’d met a time or two. All three girls looked expectant, judgemental, haughty. 

Once she was sure she had his attention, Astrid smiled. She spared a brief glance over the table. “A meeting of the minds?”

It was the playfully condescending tone as well as the pale glittering eyes that made Even want to curl his lip. But if being around Sonja and her friends had taught him anything, it was how to govern his own facial expressions.

“No,” he said, chuckling. He wondered if it sounded as fake to others as it did to himself. “Just having dinner.”

She made a small _hm_ noise that told him she was uninterested before he’d even answered. 

And then she feigned surprise. “Oh! I heard about that huge industry party Sonja got to go to last week. So many writers and artists. What an amazing opportunity. You better be careful, Even.” She leaned forward a bit and winked as if they were in on a joke together. “She might just forget about us and never come home.”

Even felt his polite smile droop before melting away completely. He was sure that Astrid had caught it too, judging by the glitter in her eye. He might’ve rolled his eyes in her face if he hadn’t been raised right. Mikael had no such qualms; he scoffed under his breath and folded his arms across his chest. 

Astrid smiled like she was placating a child. “Oh, she could never forget about you. Don’t worry. I’m only teasing.” She heaved a huge sigh. “I should get going. We have yoga. But hey.” Even knew what was coming before she’d even said it. “There’s a showing by Nils Jørgensen at my friend’s gallery this Friday and he said I could bring whoever I want. I know you followed his work for a while. Do you want to come?”

Even had never been so quick with an answer. “I can’t.” Astrid raised a brow. He blurted out the first words he thought were believable. “We’re going on a cabin trip this weekend. Boys trip.” He hadn’t told any of the boys he was going, but he couldn’t worry about their confusion just yet. 

Magnus, as always, seemed to have a radar for making moments, good and bad, worse. “Dude!” he cut in excitedly. “You’re going?”

Astrid and Even maintained a painful eye contact that was made all the worse by the silence surrounding them all. 

“Yep,” he said, jaw clenched.

Astrid didn’t believe him. It was written all over her fake frown and exaggerated noise of disappointment. “That’s a real shame.”

“Another time,” he offered politely, just to make her leave.

Astrid stared him hard in the eyes—a challenge. “I’m holding you to that.”

When she left, there was a lingering silence that made Even’s chest feel tight, as if he was holding his breath. His friends were looking at him. Isak was looking at him. They were probably wondering what the hell had just happened. Unlike him, they did not have the luxury of experiencing the kind of girls with which Sonja kept company. 

Magnus was the first to break the silence. “Huh. I thought you weren’t hooking up with anyone.”

Even looked up so fast his neck cracked. “What?” _Don’t look at Isak_ , he told himself. _Don’t look at him._

Magnus seemed confused by his confusion. “That girl. Haven’t you hooked up with her?”

“No,” he said, forcing calm. “Definitely not. That’s one of Sonja’s best friends.”

“Oh.” Magnus’ face shifted in consideration. “Is she single?”

“I have no idea.”

Magnus hummed, looked over at Astrid’s form slipping out of the door. His attention shifted again. “Hey, you’re coming to the cabin!” It was almost hard to readjust to the sharp left turn he had taken. 

Even didn’t answer for several long moments. “Yeah.” He made the word stretch. “Uh, whose cabin even is it?”

“Mine.”

He didn’t have to look. He’d know that voice blindfolded. He’d probably know it in five, ten years even. 

When he finally did raise his eyes to meet Isak’s, Isak cocked one brow. Where Astrid had looked arrogant doing it, Isak only looked challenging in a cute, teasing sort of way. It was enough to make the hairs on his arm stand up. 

“You should come,” Isak said, shrugging. Like he didn’t care at all. 

Even sort of hoped he cared. He sort of hoped Isak _wanted_ him to come, even though he shouldn’t. And it was that hope that had him saying, “Sure. Sounds cool” without considering whether it was actually a good idea to do.

Jonas and Mahdi shared a loaded look. Even dropped his eyes. He couldn’t bear to see what Mikael and Mutta were doing too. Every person that was in on his secret was right there and he was sure they were all wondering what Even was doing—what was going on. 

Their judgement wasn’t enough, however, to make him rescind his agreement to go to Isak’s cabin. 

“I call shotgun!” Magnus yelled.

* * *

Friday afternoon found him on the corner outside of his apartment—swallowed by a thick hoodie, sunglasses on, bags sitting at his feet. Alone. Mikael had originally planned on going too. But when the girl he was dating invited him out, he’d cancelled without a second thought. Even almost couldn’t blame him. 

The phone pressed to his ear was burning hot, a testament to how long he and Sonja had been talking. She was just settling in for bed after a late night. 

“Who’s going this weekend?” she asked. 

He had to force himself not to say Isak’s name first. “Mutta, Adam, Jonas, Magnus, Mahdi, and Isak.”

“So no girls?”

He frowned. “No. It’s a boys trip.”

“That should be fun.” She waited a moment. “Try not to drink too much. Or smoke.”

He closed his eyes and counted to three. “I know.”

“I just want you to stay healthy.”

“I know. I do. It’s probably not even going to be like that anyway.”

She chuckled. “No wild nights of debauchery?”

He thought of the way Isak’s ass had fit between his legs at the bar. “Nope. No debauchery.”

“That’s good.”

It was quiet between them then, a sort of lingering silence that felt longer than it actually was. He wasn’t sure what to say to fill it—and he wanted to fill it desperately. 

He was relieved, and mildly ashamed for that relief, when he saw Adam’s black SUV roll over the horizon. The horn blared like a battle cry. 

“Well, I have to go. The boys are here.”

“I could hear that,” she teased. “Have fun. Send me some pictures.”

“Okay.”

“I love you. And I miss you.”

The car screeched to an obnoxious halt right before him. From the sunroof appeared half of Magnus’ torso. “Even!”

He lifted his hand in a wave. A fist suddenly grabbed at Magnus’ shoulder and yanked him back inside. 

“Even?”

He jerked back to attention. He’d almost forgotten what he was doing. “Love you too,” he told her. “Talk to you later.” He almost had the phone back in his pocket before the last word was out of his mouth. 

The passenger side window creeped down to reveal Mutta in the passenger seat. Adam leaned over him. “Get in, loser! We’re going shopping.”

“You’re embarrassing,” Even told him. He opened the trunk and threw his bag in before he went around the side to climb into the car. Jonas, Isak, and Mahdi were crammed together in the middle row of seats and Magnus was alone in the back. 

Even awkwardly climbed past the boys, purposely avoiding looking at Isak at all, and settled into the back with Magnus. 

Magnus held his fist out. “Roommates.”

Even bumped his fist against his. “Huh?”

Jonas turned around. His eyes were lined with maps of red veins. “You gotta sleep with Magnus.”

“Sorry, bro,” Mahdi added. He seemed genuinely remorseful. 

“Hey! I’m an excellent bedmate.”

Isak spoke for the first time. He didn’t turn around—just shifted his chin a little to the side so Even could see his mouth move. “There’s only one bed in each room.”

“Oh.” Even didn’t quite understand the fuss. He’d slept in the same bed as his friends before and it had never been a big deal. “That’s cool.”

“Hell yeah. Told you he wouldn’t care.” Magnus reached out to ruffle Isak’s tangled curls, which earned him a flick away. 

“Alright, are we ready?” Adam asked from the front, shifting the car into gear. 

There was a chorus of _yes_ es and they were off, leaving Oslo behind.

* * *

They got to Isak’s cabin almost three hours later. The car shifted onto a rocky drive that stretched on for minutes. Either side was curtained in by a thick army of forestry, the type that blocked out the sunset sky. 

When the property came into view, Even was enchanted. The house itself was nice—a pretty two-story timber cabin whose wood was dark honey-gold. A little stone pathway wound itself from the driveway and up to the front. Two rusted bicycles leaned against the side. 

The cabin sat on a jut of rocky shoreline that fed directly into a lake. The water was placid, a mirror reflecting the peachy sky and dark forest line. A rickety red rowboat sat abandoned on the shore, its oars criss-crossed over its upturned belly. The young trees surrounding the property were draped in a riot of color. 

All in all, it was a charming place.

However, it was one that Even had difficulty placing Isak in. There was an immediate incongruence there that he could not understand. Like Isak was a piece that belonged to a different puzzle. 

Even watched Isak as they unloaded the car. He’d been quiet the entire ride there and was just as quiet now. No smile graced his face; no laughs left his mouth. He was as stony as the shore below. 

It took him three tries to even get the key into the front door, muttering “fuck” the entire time. A frustrated red had creeped up his neck and onto his cheeks. Even had the strange urge to lay his palm against it. 

When Isak finally ushered them inside, the first thing Even noticed was how stale the house smelled. Like it had not been opened in some time. Like it had no family to belong to. 

Even’s assumption was only strengthened by the Christmas decorations still put up—a dead poinsettia on a side table, a strand of garland that had fallen off the railing of the main staircase, a nativity set with Jesus missing on the kitchen counter. 

The sight was a sad one. 

Isak sniffed sharply. The air was tense. “So there are four bedrooms. Two downstairs and two upstairs. Mine’s upstairs, but you guys are free to have the other ones.”

“Dibs on the master!” Adam called out. 

“Aw, fuck you, man.”

“Fair is fair.” Mutta grinned.

“I’ve known you the longest,” Jonas said, turning to Isak. “Don’t I get any privileges?”

Isak raised his hands in a clear sign of neutrality. “I’m not in this. I’ve got a bedroom.”

“Traitor,” Jonas muttered. His upset was cut by his exaggerated eye roll that looked too much like Isak’s. 

There were two bedrooms left and Even illogically knew which one he wanted. “We can take the other one upstairs.” He shrugged casually. “That okay, Magnus?”

Magnus was unbothered. “Fine by me.”

“Upstairs it is,” Even said decidedly.

Isak was slow to look at him, but when he did, Even felt it deep in his gut. He wasn’t sure what to take from that look. “Okay. Come on then.”

Isak led them up the stairs while everyone else went off to their own rooms. 

The landing of the second floor was sectioned off by a railing that overlooked the living room below and two-story foyer. Even could still hear loud and clear Mutta scolding Adam for tossing his bag on the bed, and Jonas throwing the occasional insult across the floor. 

“Uh-” Isak coughed uncomfortably. “-that’s the balcony.” He lazily pointed at a set of double doors that opened into a balcony that looked over the lake and trees. 

“You can go out there if you want. Just watch out. There’s a loose plank right by the door.” Isak turned. “My room and the bathroom are that way.” He pointed to a small hallway on the left with two closed doors. “Your room is over there.” He turned to a twin hallway on the right. 

The last few weeks had been unsure, of course. But this was something new. A different kind of awkwardness. One whose origin Even couldn’t place. There were only two possibilities: it was either Magnus’ presence reminding him of the unfortunate incident at the bar or Isak was pulling away from Even—in all capacities.

Even frowned. He didn’t enjoy the thought of Isak disliking him, or worse, hating him. And though it had not been proven, was only a pestering thought in mind, he felt a little sad. A lot heavy. 

“Thanks,” he said softly and went right. 

The room he and Magnus had chosen was a bright lime green that hurt his eyes. It was clearly Isak’s sister’s room. Her old white bed frame was decorated with peeling heart-shaped stickers and her walls were plastered with posters of all kinds—bands, art prints, films. Above the bed hung an old _Romeo + Juliet_ poster; one corner was curled, the others stuck to the wall with yellowing tape. It made Even smile—his first real smile all day. 

“Which side of the bed do you want?” he asked Magnus, eyes still stuck on the poster. 

Magnus shrugged easily. “Doesn’t matter to me. I’m a deep sleeper.”

“Alright, I’ll take this side.” He patted his hand against the side of the bed farthest from the window. 

“Cool.” Magnus jumped up and leapt in an impressive soar, landing on the bed with a dangerous squeaking sound. 

Even wondered if he could somehow finagle his way into seeing Isak’s room, just to gauge his mood (and a little to snoop), but ultimately decided against it. After all, who was he to defy the signs?

After they unpacked, all the boys congregated downstairs. They’d brought a couple bags and a cooler stuffed with food, so they emptied those on the counters and inside the tragically empty fridge. 

When the sun dipped low, they all walked down to the boulders that formed along the shoreline. They made a shitty fire on a little strip of land nearby and tried to cook food over the flame. When that inevitably failed, they ate cold hotdogs and marshmallows because they were too lazy to go back to the house. 

They sat there for a long time. Sometimes sitting in silence, sometimes talking. Jonas brought out his guitar and played a few songs. The topic eventually moved on to girls, but Sonja was thankfully not brought up. 

When Mahdi and Jonas began to tease Isak about Aleksander, Even decided he had had enough for the night. 

He stood quickly and swept the dirt off his pants. The boys quieted down and looked up at him. “I think I’m gonna head to bed. I’m beat.”

Mutta stood next and then, surprisingly, Magnus too. “Yeah, me too.” 

Even shoved his hands in his pockets and turned away to hike back up to the house. The night was lit only by the moon, the stars, and the tiny light at the front of Isak’s cabin, so the trip was a dark, treacherous one. He could hear Magnus tripping behind him, but kept walking forward until they’d reached the porch. 

He readied for bed in complete silence and climbed into the bed, tucking the blanket just under his chin. Magnus wasn’t far behind, grunting as he made his way through the dark and stumbled into his own side. 

He wiggled for too long, trying to get comfortable. The bed shook as he tossed and turned and it just worsened the anxiety that had been sitting on Even’s chest since they’d arrived. 

When he finally got still, he whispered, “Night, bro.”

“Night,” Even whispered back. He closed his eyes, ready for sleep to take him.

* * *

Even finally learned, after hours of lying awake, why no one else had wanted to room with Magnus. 

Magnus snored like a chugging train. Deep, grating snores that were painful to listen to—particularly when only a foot away. He filled the room with his noises and flicked a switch on in Even’s brain. Where before he was exhausted from the day of traveling and settling in, now he was wide awake. Totally unable to slip back into that liminal space where he was neither conscious nor unconscious. 

He lay there for an unknowable amount of time. Hoping. Wishing. Praying that Magnus would sink into the kind of sleep that was deep and peaceful. And quiet. 

But it never happened. If possible, Magnus’ snoring only worsened as the minutes dragged on. At one point, the sounds were so loud and so hoarse that he couldn’t believe no one else had come to check on them—or bang on the door. 

Even rolled onto his side and checked his phone. It was nearly one in the morning and he was nowhere near sleep. For a moment, he considered calling Sonja—it would be late afternoon for her—but he ultimately decided against it. While he wasn’t tired, he also wasn’t up for the energy it would take to have a full-blown conversation. 

Instead, he slipped out of bed carefully. Moving an inch at a time before checking to see if Magnus’ breathing had changed at all. It never did. 

He pulled on his pajama pants, the hoodie he’d worn all day, and his shoes. He grabbed the extra blanket that was draped over the dresser, a large velvety thing that was unbearably soft to touch, and pulled it around his shoulders like a cloak before sneaking out of the room. 

The door creaked sharply when he pushed it open, seeming to echo through the entire house. Even cringed. Stopped. Listened for noises. When none greeted him but for Magnus’ awful snoring, he dared to take another step and pulled the door shut behind him. 

Muted moonlight streamed through the double doors that led to the balcony and flooded the landing. On the balcony there was a small wicker two-seater that had been pushed up against the railing. It looked like the perfect spot for watching stars and the water and reveling in the silence only nightfall could bring. 

Even made his way over on light feet, closing his eyes against the quick rush of cold air against his face as he opened one of the doors and slipped out. Outside, the world slept. All but the stars that gleamed overhead like a silver-white army. It was a mesmerizing sight that made him forget who, what, where he was for just a moment. 

When the cold began to seep in, Even pulled the blanket tighter around him and tugged the trailing end upward. He yanked the wicker seat back, careful to make little noise, and finally curled up on the left side to look out at all that surrounded the cabin. 

The lake was completely still. It captured the sight of the stars and reflected back at them like glass. The trees surrounding it were dark sentries, keeping watch over all. Aside from the sky, there were no lights to see—no distant amber glow from another cabin, no gleam of campfire. They were utterly isolated but for the nature around them and the company of one another. In a way, it was comforting. To be so separated and yet so close—a lovely contradiction. 

The minutes went by faster outside. Even didn’t even try to keep track of how long he’d been out. All he knew was that the tip of his nose was freezing and his breath was a pale ribbon unfurling before him. Nothing else was important. 

It was sometime later that the door creaked behind him. He jerked. Swiveled. Squinted his eyes at the figure standing there. Isak’s figure was instantly recognizable: curls a dark halo, broad shoulders hunched against the cold, eyes wide. 

“Hey?” Even whispered, confused. His heart began to beat faster just from the proximity. 

Isak shut the door, stepped closer. He crossed his arms tightly against his own body. “What are you doing out here?” he whispered back. 

“Couldn’t sleep. Magnus snores.”

Isak chuckled softly. “Yeah, that’s why Jonas and Mahdi called their own room. Do you want me to go wake him up for you?”

“No, no.” He really didn’t want to leave this moment—not even for the sleep that he so ached for earlier. He didn’t understand the powerful rush of relief he felt just at having Isak talking to him again. “I just… I’ll go back in a bit. Not right now.”

Isak looked at him. He’d come around the unoccupied side of the wicker seat and was studying him in silence. He licked his lips and the moon caught the gleam on his bottom lip. “Do you mind if I sit with you?”

Even’s heart did a little flip. He pushed as far to the left as he could to make room. “Go for it.”

Isak sat on the other side and stretched his legs out before him, resting his neck against the crackling wicker back. He was quiet then, happy to just look out at everything spread around them. 

Even had never been more awake. It was as if he’d pumped espresso straight into his head and his heart so that his thoughts were running laps around his brain and his chest was rattling with the force of his heartbeat. He was almost sick with the feeling. Nauseated in that exciting way—the kind he used to chase. The kind Isak always seemed to inspire in him.

“So why are _you_ up?” he finally asked, voice a bit too loud for the calm of night. 

“Couldn’t sleep,” Isak echoed back at him. He paused for a moment before shrugging. “It happens sometimes. No big deal.”

Even wasn’t sure about that. He knew how important sleep was, but he also didn’t think they had the type of relationship that warranted nagging. So he kept his mouth shut and didn’t spout off the same line his doctor, therapist, parents, and Sonja liked to tell him when his sleep schedule slipped off course. 

He said nothing. Stared straight and tried not to be completely, painfully aware of Isak right beside him doing the same thing. It was not a comfortable silence. It was loaded. Carried the load of the last few weeks on its back. Crackled like electricity. Made a ball of anxiety swim up his chest and lodge itself in the base of his throat. His hand began to go numb from where it was tucked beneath his thigh, tingling with needles. 

Isak seemed calm and happy enough to stay quiet. But when he shivered—one that danced down his entire body—Even became aware of what he was wearing. A faded t-shirt, pajama bottoms, and mud-caked boots that didn’t look like anything he’d ever wear. 

“You’re freezing,” Even said quietly just as Isak’s body was stricken with another shiver. 

Isak made a noise of disagreement, though it was more playful than true. “Hardly,” he said. “It’s just a little cold up here.”

“A little cold,” Even muttered back. He’d seen moments of Isak’s stubbornness here and there, but never had he seen it wielded so blatantly in defiance of what was good for him. “Do you-” He stopped himself at the last second, suddenly overcome with the doubt that this, amongst all the things he and Isak had done, would be too much. But then he remembered Isak’s weight on his lap in a crappy bar, the way he’d said yes to Even’s question before Magnus had ruined it all, and he thought that maybe he should stop thinking. _Minute by minute_ , he told himself. 

He lifted one corner of the blanket, squeezing his fingers around a fistful of velvet. The cold rushed in immediately, curling up against his ribs like a cat. “Do you want to share?” 

Isak looked over at him with green eyes wider than the moon above. That very moon had draped him all in shades of silver and white—his skin like pale marble and his curls utterly bleached of their gold. He was art manifested in human form, the love child of Michelangelo’s chisel and Vermeer’s brush. Better than anything that stood on a plinth or hung on the walls at the Louvre, the Met, the Uffizi, the Accademia. 

Even wasn’t sure if he’d ever been so mesmerized by a face before. Even thought Isak had never looked lovelier—ratty shirt and all. 

“Sure.” He saw more than heard Isak’s reply, so transfixed was he by that face. Isak pressed his hands to the seat on either side of him—hands drained of color from the cold—and slid closer until he had huddled under the other side of the blanket and was pressed tightly against Even. 

It was more than a tight fit. The blanket stretched across the span of their shoulders and backs, and pulled taut at the front where they each struggled to warm their bodies. Consequently, they were touching all along their sides: calves, thighs, hips, arms. His entire body was alive, thrumming—like butterfly wings were dancing just beneath the surface of his skin. 

“Warm,” Isak mumbled suddenly, settling more into the swaddle they had created. 

Even couldn’t agree less. Though the blanket was a thick velvet, it could not withstand the cold coming off the lake. Neither was it made to comfortably fit two grown men. But he thought that there were other merits to their sharing that far outweighed the cold creeping in. 

He also couldn’t resist teasing, just to see Isak become offended. “If you wore proper clothing, you wouldn’t have been cold in the first place.” It felt good to tease.

It felt even better when Isak gave him what he wanted. 

Isak scoffed, furrowed his brows a bit, cutting his eyes at Even from the side. “It was too dark to see where my sweater was.”

Even smirked. “And a blanket?”

“I gave the extras to Jonas and Mahdi.”

“How charitable. “

Isak sniffed. “I am.”

“And humble too,” he added, unable to stop his smile from spreading. 

Isak raised his chin, still facing forward. If he turned his head, their noses would touch. “I have humility in spades.”

“It shows.” 

Isak didn’t respond to that. He stayed quiet, looking ahead, but there was a very small smile on his lips that made Even feel a little proud. 

He didn’t want to stop talking though, so he said the first thing that came to mind. “This is a really nice cabin.”

“Yeah,” Isak said softly. His face gave little away. 

Even wanted more—more than short answers and silences. “Do you come here a lot?”

“Not anymore. Used to.”

“Why the fourth bedroom?”

Isak frowned and glanced over. “What?”

“Uh, well, I’ve just only heard you talk about your parents and sister. But there’s a fourth bedroom.” He was painfully aware of how much he was prying, how much of himself he was giving away, but he couldn’t stop. Isak was like a book that he was rushing through just to see the end. 

“Ah.” Isak looked away. “My grandmother used to live with us. That was where she stayed when we came here.”

“Oh.” 

“You’re in Lea’s room.”

Even snorted. “I couldn’t tell. The Justin Bieber poster really threw me off. I was wondering to myself, ‘Wow, is Isak a Belieber?’”

Isak scoffed. “Oh my God.” The particular brightness Even was used to seemed to slip back into his face. 

“What?” Even grinned. “You can’t blame me for wondering.”

“Uh, I can and I will.” Isak turned his head the slightest bit to give him a disbelieving look. “Justin Bieber? Really? Who do you think I am?”

“Someone with questionable taste.”

“You’re one to talk,” Isak shot back. Even wondered if they were talking about music anymore.

He sat up straighter, twisting where he sat so that he could get a good look at Isak. When he moved, his thigh brushed over Isak’s so that they overlapped. He felt a heady rush between his legs and in his head. 

He might have pushed for clarification if he didn’t feel so lightheaded already. He wasn’t sure how much more he could take being in Isak’s presence like that, especially after so long staying away. But he didn’t want to stop either. It felt too good. Too exhilarating. Particularly with his thigh half-draped over Isak’s lap. 

“It’s actually obvious you have horrible music taste,” he tried, looking away when Isak glanced over. “If that shit at Aleksander’s show was your type, then I’ve lost all hope for you.”

“Hey.” Isak twisted a little bit too. The night’s chill danced under the blanket. “You were there too, so you have no room to talk.”

“I wasn’t there for the music though,” Even countered with a wild grin.

Isak rolled his eyes. “What were you there for then?”

“The company of course.”

It took Isak a second to understand. He narrowed his eyes and searched Even’s face like he was trying to unravel an equation. Even wasn’t sure if he found his answer, but the smile still on his face more than made up for the uncertainty. 

He liked playing with Isak. He wasn’t sure why, but he did. There was something about him and the way he spoke and reacted that was unpredictable. It was exciting, to say the least. _He_ was exciting. He was fun to push and tease, to trade words with. Even even liked it when Isak said nothing at all. When he rolled his eyes or scoffed or smirked. 

For the first time ever, Even wondered what life might look like now if Isak had never uttered those ugly words the first time they met. 

“What are you thinking about so hard?” Isak asked suddenly. 

Even blinked, came back to the present. He waved away his thoughts like smoke. “Nothing. Not much,” he amended. He decided to be brave, be honest. “This moment.”

“What about this moment?”

Even shrugged. “I like it.”

Isak turned a bit—just enough that he could make out any face or movement Even made. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” Even thought for a moment, pursing his lips as he did. “The cold. The place. The company.”

One corner of Isak’s mouth lifted as if on a puppet string. He said nothing. 

“What about you?” Even pressed, eager to keep him talking. “What are you thinking?”

Isak didn’t answer for several long moments. So long that Even thought he wouldn’t answer at all. But then he did and his response was almost more than he could handle: “That I like the fresh air.”

Even went completely still. His brows flicked up. He wondered if the specific words Isak had chosen were intentional. Had he meant to parrot Even’s words from the bar back at him, or was it merely a coincidence?

The way Isak was looking at him made him think it wasn’t coincidental. 

Isak studied him for a long time. The silence between them screamed. And just when Even started to feel like it would never end, Isak’s eyes dropped. Isak looked at his lips like he couldn’t help it. 

Even’s heart pounded out a violent beat. A beat that drummed against his very skeleton and rattled his eyes. Having Isak look at him like that again, after so long...he wasn’t sure how to handle it. All he could do was stare back and hope. 

Isak lifted his chin. His eyes were still caught on Even’s mouth. He leaned forward, pressing his knee into Even’s. 

Even began to feel lightheaded as he watched, waited, for Isak to come even closer. It was not until his vision blurred completely from how close they were that his brain realized this was going to happen. 

_He’s going to kiss me_ , he thought as Isak pressed a warm, gentle, barely there kiss on the corner of Even’s mouth. He lingered there for a moment, let Even feel his lips pursed and pressing there. And then he pulled back, eyes still stuck on the very place he’d just been. 

It was intoxicating, to say the least. Having someone—having _Isak_ —look at him like that was a thrill. And it was hard to listen to any sign, no matter how glaring, when Isak was right there.

As if they were connected by some invisible string or drawn together like magnets, Even moved forward to close the space between them that Isak had created. To finish what they had meant to start all those weeks ago. 

This time, he kissed Isak—a slow, open-mouthed kiss that was more teasing than anything. Isak made a small, disgruntled noise that Even was sure he didn’t mean to make. But it lit him up from the inside out regardless. 

He kissed Isak more firmly the next time and slid his fingers into the thick curls at the nape of Isak’s neck, just because he wanted to. His skin was warm there and it seeped into Even’s fingers like clutching a cup of coffee. 

Even kissed Isak the way he’d wanted to the night of that show. Slow and sexy, curling his tongue against Isak’s, letting his teeth glide gently over Isak’s bottom lip, pulling back to see the desire he’d created all over that face. 

Only this was better than kissing against a dirty brick wall ever could have been. Because they were wrapped up together in a warm velvet blanket. Because the cold made them seek each other’s heat even more desperately. Because of the way he could lay his hand on the inside of Isak’s thigh. 

When he did, Isak jerked so hard that Even stopped. Pulled back—from the kiss and his thigh. 

“No,” Isak said quickly. He had a sex voice that Even was dying to swallow down. 

Isak swallowed like he was going to war and found Even’s hand. But rather than hold it or push it even farther away, he pulled it toward him and deliberately placed it back on the inside of his own thigh—an inch or two higher than where Even had it before. 

Even raised his brows, both at the boldness and as a way to silently ask, _Are you sure?_

Isak didn’t answer him. At least not verbally. Instead, he raked both hands through Even’s hair and used the grip to pull him back in for a messy kiss that eventually settled into something soft and slow. 

With his hand on Isak’s thigh—the very thing he’d fantasized for weeks over—it was hard to pay attention to kissing him the way he should. Nearly all of his mind was devoted to cataloging every minute detail: the shape of his thigh under Even’s palm, how warm it was, the contradiction of soft and hard. 

And then there was the battle against his own instincts, which were telling him to knead the muscle there, just to see how strong Isak really was. He’d never second-guessed himself so much in his life, had never doubted every move he wanted to make with another. Even was painfully aware of every small movement he made, nervous that one wrong move would make this all come crashing down. 

_He wants your hand there_ , he told himself. So, carefully, with barely any force at all, Even pressed his palm firmly against Isak’s thigh, let his fingers squeeze into the softness on either side. The inseam was soft and thin, but not as soft as the way his thigh gave under Even’s hand. 

Isak’s movements stuttered a bit in response. His lips stopped moving for half a second and his tongue turned shy. 

So Even pulled away, pressed a kiss to the side of Isak’s glistening mouth, the soft of his cheek, the sharp drop of his cheekbone, to the side of his ear and right below it, creating a trail that led down. 

Isak shuddered out the word “Oh,” making it last like a long shiver. The word buzzed against Even’s lips where they were pressed to the soft part of Isak’s neck. He wanted Isak to make that noise again and again. So he went lower, finding the hollow of Isak’s throat and placed a wet, open-mouthed kiss there, letting the very tip of his tongue taste Isak’s skin. Isak clenched his fingers in Even’s hair, grabbing two fistfuls of it, and, with the heels of his palms, pushed Even more firmly into his kisses. 

Even painted Isak’s skin with his lips like oil on canvas. He swept them over the ringed bones that climbed up Isak’s throat. Pushed them on the underside of his jaw. Brushed them over the hollow and where his neck sloped down into his shoulder. 

And all the while, half his mind was trying to convince him to move his hand higher. Just an inch. Maybe two. He wanted to know what Isak felt like there, at that juncture where his thigh met his groin. He wanted to know if Isak was soft there. He wanted to move higher and see if Isak was hard. 

He took a moment to sweep the tip of his nose up the side of Isak’s neck, exhaling all the while, before he placed an open kiss to the shell of his ear, flicking his tongue across the skin. And then he made his move—crawled his fingers upward where his thigh was firmer, making sure to scrape his nails against the soft inside as he did. 

Isak shivered hard. Even wasn’t sure if it was the cold or his hands and tongue that did it—but he pulled the blanket around them tighter anyway, deeper into their cocoon, and pressed even closer to Isak. 

It was a dream Even could barely believe was happening, even as he was in it. The deep chill of an autumn night around them, Isak’s warmth keeping Even flushed, his mouth on Isak’s skin. His hand pressed too high up on Isak’s thigh. Isak going slack everywhere. 

Isak tipped his head back like he didn’t mean to. Jerked it upward for a second before it bobbed again and he seemingly lost the fight, letting it fall back until it rested against the chair’s curved wicker back. His eyes were closed, but the bliss he faced the heavens with was unmistakable. 

Even followed with his mouth and squeezed Isak’s thigh hard as he did. He wanted to go even higher. He wanted to so badly. And nothing—not Sonja, not his relationship, not the future—could strip him of that desire in that moment. 

If Isak matched that want...

To test, he shifted his wrist. Swept his hand over the muscle there until his entire palm was pressed between Isak’s legs. The vee between his thumb and finger lined up with the inseam and his fingers spread wide. Together, they burned hot. 

Even’s lips had found their way back under Isak’s jaw. Isak’s heartbeat was pounding hard beneath his lips and he was trembling like he’d never been touched before. Like Even’s mouth and hand were the best things he’d ever felt. 

Even was on top of the world. 

Even kept his lips pressed to the heartbeat fluttering like a hummingbird’s wings, but did not make any move. He wanted to feel the way it changed when...

Even reached higher into the heat between them. 

He found what he wanted almost immediately. Isak’s cock was thick and so, _so_ hard, pressed tight along his own thigh. It was the first time Even had ever touched another man and the reality—the reality of it being _Isak_ —was almost too much for his mind to handle. To comprehend. He almost couldn’t believe this was happening. 

In this moment, reality was far better than any dream he’d ever had.

An electric current ran under his palms and shot straight between his own legs. He smoothed his hand over the hard length of Isak’s cock, making sure to press firmly before he wrapped his fingers around it through the flannel pajamas separating skin. Even pulled back to watch Isak’s face—to see his reactions. 

Isak didn’t disappoint. His eyes were still closed, but his lashes fluttered like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to look. His mouth was parted and he was panting heavily, his breaths pale clouds rising into the air. 

Even stroked downward and Isak clenched his eyes. He circled a single finger around the head and Isak licked his lips. He pressed the heel of his hand into the shaft as he glided up and Isak’s stomach quivered. 

As it was, his entire body seemed to be shaking. Like he couldn’t help it. Like he didn’t even know. 

Even had forgotten completely about himself, how hard and aching he was. All that he cared about was keeping that look on Isak’s face. Making his body keep trembling. 

The next time Even moved, he made sure to wrap his fingers around Isak’s dick as best he could so that the stroke was tight. The strained moan Isak let out into the night air was almost enough to drive Even crazy. 

It was like they were in another world. Another reality. One where the only thing worth paying attention to was one another—the heat they created, the noises Isak made, the way those noises made Even feel. He wondered what Isak’s hand would feel like on his own dick and nearly groaned with how bad he wanted that to happen. 

“I-” Isak said suddenly. His words were cut off like he couldn’t help it. He sucked in a stuttered breath and opened his eyes, lids heavy. “I’m-”

He never did get to hear what Isak was going to say. As he was searching Isak’s face, a light inside flicked on. A light on the second floor. 

His stomach dropped to the ground. “Fuck!” he hissed. 

Isak jerked up and twisted around to follow Even’s eyes. Half a second later, Magnus came stumbling out of their room, rubbing at one eye. 

On instinct, Even ducked and hid his face in Isak’s neck. He was breathing hard, washing Isak’s skin with his hot pants. Isak’s heartbeat was going wild against his nose. 

“It’s Magnus,” Isak whispered. There was a short pause that felt like years. “He’s going to the bathroom.”

They waited there for so long. Completely frozen, still pressed together like puzzle pieces. Even was afraid to move even a muscle. It was one thing for a few of their friends to know what had happened between Isak and him. It was another thing entirely if it was Magnus. Magnus couldn’t keep his mouth shut on the best of days. If he knew this secret, that meant everyone would know. And Even couldn’t have that—no matter how much he liked doing it. How much he maybe wanted to _keep_ doing it. 

After too many minutes of waiting, Isak’s strung-tight body deflated. The light flicked off and darkness returned. “Fuck. That was close.”

Even pulled back from his neck and looked Isak in the eyes. Where he expected awkwardness or even upset, he only saw a slightly anxious lightness glittering in his eyes—like he found it a little bit funny. 

Isak smiled. So did Even, because he couldn’t not. And then they were laughing, dispelling all their worry for what had just happened into the night air like dying embers. 

When they finally fell silent, Isak was still smiling—a little half-smile that made him look young and open. “Maybe we should go to bed,” he whispered. 

Even’s smile died. He was disappointed. Yes, he didn’t want this _moment_ to become public knowledge, but he also didn’t want to stop. Especially not when Isak had been muttering, “I- I’m-” before they’d stopped. 

“Are you sure?” It took him a second to realize that, in the scare, he’d moved his hands to clutch at Isak’s hips instead. 

“Yeah.” Isak nodded slowly. “I think we should.”

Even swallowed painfully, but nodded too. As much as he wanted to continue, to go back to that moment that had been cut off, he also knew that the air had shifted. Magnus’ presence had introduced an anxiety that was too much to overcome on that night. Or maybe ever again. 

He could only hope that they wouldn’t go back to living like they had the past few weeks. In that miserable in-between. But he also didn’t know what to say to ensure that, so he kept quiet.

He pulled himself away from Isak, separating every inch where their bodies were pressed together. The blanket dropped from their shoulders and he breathed in the cold air. It was a sobering feeling, but not entirely unwelcome. 

He and Isak stood together and made their way to the door. This time it did not creak. It did not make a noise. 

When it shut behind them, Isak stopped Even with one word. 

“Maybe...”

Even turned back. He watched Isak watch him for several long seconds. 

“Maybe we can...” Isak started again, but did not finish. 

Even didn’t need him to. His stomach flipped over. He could hear the silent words loud and clear. _Maybe we can pick this up later. Maybe we can do this again. Maybe, maybe, maybe._

“Yeah,” he breathed out with the barest suggestion of a smile. And he found that he really wanted to. Nothing else was barring him from this, could bar him from this. Not as long as he had a choice and Isak wanted it too. 

Isak smiled then, something small but no less powerful. “Okay then.” He did one firm nod and slipped past Even. When he was almost to the corner of the hallway where he would disappear into the darkness, he stopped and turned to look over his shoulder. His eyes dropped down to the shape of Even’s hard dick tenting the front of his pajamas and he smirked. Like he was pleased that he was the one who’d done that. He looked back up before he slipped away for good. “Night.”

When Even crawled into bed beside a snoring Magnus for the second time that night, only one thing was left on his mind. _Screw the signs_ , he thought. _I’ll make my own_.


	9. On Fire from Within

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy this >10k monster!

Even was the first to wake. The distant song of chattering birds filled the silent house with a bright, golden energy—an energy that was outmatched by the grey fog heralding in the morning and the grey heart sitting heavy in his chest. 

He had not slept. Or perhaps he had, but his mind and dreams had allowed him no reprieve from the waking world. As soon as his head had hit the pillow, Isak was all he could think about. Isak on his lips, Isak on his tongue, Isak under his hand. Isak, Isak, Isak on his mind. 

He’d vowed to make his own signs. But then the hours crept on and the guilt crept in and Even was once more adrift in an angry sea that had no end. 

He’d come to accept the fact that he’d liked what had happened. He’d liked it a lot—too much probably. But he was no longer sure where the line was between Isak and him. It certainly didn’t help that, when Sonja first moved away, he’d had no intention of ever doing anything about their new arrangement, and thus now had no idea how far he was actually willing to go. 

He asked himself, should he have done it? Probably not. No; no, he shouldn’t have. Would he do it again if given the chance? Probably. Yes; yes, he would. 

So he felt guilty. And excited for more. And guilty for that excitement. An ouroboros of regret and eagerness that did nothing to lull him into a satisfying sleep. So he woke up early, extricated himself from Magnus, who had clung to him fiercely in sleep, and tiptoed downstairs to call Sonja. 

The phone had barely rang twice when she answered, a quick and confused “Hello?”

“Hey,” he murmured, shuffling to the back door that opened into a neglected patio area shaded by the upstairs balcony. In the short distance beyond that, the water was restless and grey. 

“What are you doing up so early, babe?” Sonja asked, matching the volume of her voice to his. The care there made a twinge of loneliness hit him straight in the chest. 

“Didn’t sleep well.” And before he could help himself, “Magnus snores.”

She made a sympathetic noise. “Why didn’t you room with Mutta or Adam?”

“Everyone had already chosen.”

“Ah. That really sucks.” There was a pause. “Why didn’t you text me when you got there yesterday?”

“Sorry,” he said automatically. He looked out at the water and the trees and the sky and realized that these things had watched him back last night. Him and Isak. He wondered if nature kept secrets. “Got distracted.”

She hummed. “Are you getting along with everyone there? I know that one Isak dude’s there, right?”

Hearing his name come out of her mouth was a punch in the stomach. Almost immediately his guts writhed, shifting inside him. His heart flipped over in his chest. Nausea shimmied up his throat. 

“Yeah,” he said, trying so hard to sound normal. “He is. But it’s whatever. The house is really nice though. It’s right on the water, so the view’s great.”

“Oh. Well that’s good. Send me some pictures later.”

The screaming creak of the stairs caught his attention and had him turning from the door. When Mutta stepped around the banister, fully dressed, Even gave him a little wave and tuned back into his conversation. 

“Hey, babe. Some others are getting up now, so I’m gonna go.”

“Alright. I’ll talk to you later?”

“Yeah, definitely.” Mutta was searching the kitchen, mouthing _Keys?_ Even shrugged. 

“I love you,” Sonja said, voice already far away. 

“I love you too.”

As soon as he’d hung up, he said, “Where are you going?”

“Store.” Mutta made a triumphant noise and held up the clinking mass of keys on Adam’s key ring. “If we want any decent food for today, we have to get some other shit.” He looked over, took in the shadows darkening Even’s eyes. “Wanna come with?”

Even didn’t need to be asked twice. 

The trip to the store and back was the pick-me-up he never expected. Sometimes it was easy to forget how funny Mutta could be, especially when he was usually the voice of reason in their motley crew of friends. On the ride there, he joked about anything and everything that wasn’t to do with Even: Mikael’s new “girlfriend”; the scene Yousef had made of himself in front of Sana and Elias’ father at dinner recently; even a classmate of his that had confidently shouted out “Orgasm!” as the answer to a question in his business seminar. 

By the time they’d made it back to the cabin, Even’s abs were sore from laughter and his face was wet with tears. They walked inside, still chuckling, to find Jonas and Adam sitting uselessly around the kitchen island while Mahdi picked through the empty pantry. 

When he saw the plastics bags in their hands, Adam looked up at Even. “Please tell me you got eggs.”

Even set his bags down and pulled out the squeaky carton. “I got eggs.”

“Thank fuck. Boys, we aren’t starving today.”

Mutta rolled his eyes. “We weren’t going to starve, drama queen.”

“Well I definitely wasn’t eating cold hotdogs again, so I might’ve.”

Soon the house was filled with the noise of clanging pots and pans as Even and Mutta navigated the kitchen and the low, but steadily increasing drone of the boys as they watched. 

Even was cracking a fourth egg into a bowl when Isak and Magnus finally came downstairs. As soon as he caught sight of the blonde curls and those rumpled clothes, he flinched. Dropped half the shell in the bowl and was forced to fish out the pieces. 

“Morning,” Magnus called out happily, far too awake and far too happy for the grey day unfurling outside. He earned a chorus of unenthusiastic greetings back. He hopped over the couch and hooked his chin over the back. He breathed deeply. “What’s cookin’, good lookin’?” he asked, looking straight at Even.

Even couldn’t help but smile. “Eggs. And bacon.” He pointed his fork at Adam, who he had appointed to man the griddle. Thick strips of bacon were sizzling, popping grease like fireworks. Adam flinched and shielded himself with a ragged dish towel. 

“Well it smells amazing,” Magnus said. “When is it gonna be done?”

“Whoa, calm down,” Mahdi interjected. “Last to rise, last to eat. Those are the rules.”

“What the fuck? How’s that fair?”

The voices around him turned to jeers and taunts from the boys and cries from an apparently “malnourished” Magnus who was fighting for his right to eat first. Even might have laughed, might have even joined in on the ribbing from the others that was now rising like a wave, but there was an invisible line cast out to sea that he was powerless to escape or avoid. It caught on Even’s brain, hooked deep into the meat there, and reeled him in fast. 

Even lifted his eyes. A piece of prey moving as slowly as possible in order to avoid detection.

Isak was spread sideways across the living room armchair, looking right back at Even. His hair was ruffled, the curls flattened on one side, frizzy on the other. Purple crescent moons darkened the skin beneath his eyes, but his eyes were alert, sharp. Green stained glass. He was wearing the same faded shirt and soft plaid pajama bottoms that he’d had on the night before. 

Even immediately thought of the way his skin had felt brushing against those clothes. How his fingers had spread over the flannel. How his hand had worked between Isak’s legs—how hard Isak had been in his palm. 

Even turned back toward the pan, ignoring the telltale tendril of desire skating up his spine. But he still felt those eyes on his back. Was certain of it. 

That certainty made him excited. And sick to his stomach. It was exhilarating, in a backwards kind of way. Like climbing up the tracks of a rollercoaster. Like cresting the peak, knowing what was waiting below. 

_Maybe we can_ , Isak had said last night. _Maybe we can_. Those three words followed Even into his restless sleep and colored his dreams. He’d relived their night through the lens of his own unconsciousness and shame had awoken him.

But with Isak sitting there, staring, staring, staring, it was hard to remember what shame even felt like. 

“So, where’d you go last night?” Magnus’ question cut through the din of the house. Almost immediately the boys quieted. All that was left was the pop of the griddle and the sizzle of the eggs after Even poured them in the hot pan. 

Even’s stomach dropped to the floor. Magnus had not addressed it to him, but he knew without a doubt that the question was for him and him only. He half turned, feeling several pairs of eyes on his back. “What do you mean?” he asked nonchalantly, pushing the eggs left and right just to have something to do.

Magnus was quick. “I went to piss last night and you were gone.”

The silence around them was a living thing. 

“Oh. Yeah.” He turned around and faced Magnus with a dazzling smile, the kind he used when he really wanted to sell something—lie or otherwise. “I went out and called Sonja.” He had to physically stop himself from squeezing his eyes shut in regret. Out of all the excuses he could have come up with—he just had to cover Isak up with Sonja. He wondered what Isak thought about that. What he was thinking right that second, still draped over the chair. If he thought Even was a douchebag. If he thought Even was scummy. 

Magnus’ face turned sly. “Booty call?”

Someone groaned. “Dude. Boundaries.”

“Can’t exactly booty call someone who’s thousands of miles away,” Mahdi pointed out. 

“Sure you can!” Magnus exclaimed. “Ever heard of phone sex? I did it once and let me tell you, the things she said were wild. I nutted so fa-”

“You’re nasty.”

Magnus threw his hands up. “What? I’m just saying. It’s possible.” He looked at Even like he might back him up. “Sonja isn’t here, so Even’s gotta get it from somewhere. Right?” 

The shards of last night’s memory scraped down his skin. “Nah, she just wanted to talk.” He was so desperate to change the subject that he reached for the most obvious distraction. “Plus-” He got Magnus’ full attention. “-you snore like a chainsaw.”

Jonas and Mahdi erupted in laughter. “I told you, man,” Jonas said. “Not even Even is nice enough to handle you asleep.”

“Or awake,” Isak murmured to himself. But Even heard. It was the first time he’d heard that hoarse voice since _Maybe we can…_ and Even wanted to bathe in it. 

Magnus was distraught, face drooping in concern and disbelief. He turned to Even with big blue eyes. “Wait, really?”

The distraction had worked, but it didn’t mean Even didn’t feel a little bad for throwing Magnus under the bus. He smiled kindly. 

“You do snore,” he said. “But it’s not that bad.” 

“He’s lying to you,” Isak added quickly. 

Even finally faced Isak head on—it felt like the first time ever. All the adrenaline and intrigue he’d felt that first time was back again, worsened by the memory of Isak hard beneath his hand. 

Even cocked a brow playfully, just because he couldn’t help it. “Are you insulting my honor right to my face?”

He couldn’t read Isak’s face—especially not with it controlled in front of all their friends, who were watching them strangely—but there was the phantom of something playful that made Even’s shoulders relax just a bit. 

“Not insulting it,” Isak finally said. “Just questioning it.”

Even stared at Isak and Isak stared right back. He was painfully aware of how their friends watched them, knew how confused they must be by the interaction they were witnessing. But he also couldn’t stop staring. Because it was Isak. And he had a face that deserved to be looked at. 

Magnus cut the tension. “I’ll sleep with you tonight then,” he said to Isak.

Isak cut his eyes over. “I’d rather die.”

Magnus shrugged. “Then Even will.”

His skin grew impossibly tight and heat pressed in all around him. _I’d rather die_ , he was waiting for Isak to say to that. He was waiting for the humiliation, and to be honest, the disappointment, to settle in. 

But Isak said nothing. He just raised his brows and sat in silence.

“Me or him,” Magnus pressed, pointing between himself and Even.

Isak rolled his eyes but it lacked any real meaning. In fact, it looked forced. “Fine. If it’s really such a big deal, Even can stay in my room tonight.” He looked at Even. “If he wants.”

Even could not move. Could barely feel his shallow heartbeat in his chest. Could barely hear anything but the quiet ballooning around them. Stretching, like it was going to pop any moment. He needed to answer. He needed to answer right now. 

_Maybe we can…_

“Yeah,” Even said, voice cooler than he could have believed possible for the snakelike tension coiling around him. Isak’s green eyes turned even sharper. “Sounds good. Thanks.”

Magnus smiled. “Cool! Now that that’s settled, I’m hungry. Is the food done yet?”

* * *

Despite the way the boys had whined, they ate slowly. Made breakfast last past lunchtime, pausing between bites of food to joke around or to share a story or to discuss (or fight) about what to do the rest of the day. Even’s mind was elsewhere—in a bed he had never seen. 

After they finished eating and set the dishes in the sink “to soak,” they migrated outside to sit by the water. They manned themselves with blankets and board games, a random deck of cards and some beers for the ones who wanted to day drink. 

As they shuffled out the backdoor and through the dingy patio, Adam sucked in an excited breath. He lay his hand flat against something hulking and covered in a black tarp. “Isak, do you have a hot tub?”

“Yeah.”

“Dude, why didn’t you say something? We have to turn it on.” Adam began pulling off the cover to reveal a surprisingly nice hot tub that looked barely used. He looked around frantically for buttons. 

“It takes a few hours to warm up,” Isak warned him. He had on his glossy black Ray-Bans and Even hated that he couldn’t see what was behind his eyes. “And no one brought a swimsuit anyway.”

“We could wear our boxers,” Mahdi suggested. Even’s heart did a little jump. “It’s just us. Who cares?”

Isak shrugged like he didn’t care at all. But Even did. Even found that he cared a lot. 

As Adam and Isak figured out how to turn the hot tub on, Even and the others went down to sit at the rocks. But he couldn’t listen to the chatter around him or the gentle lull of the water before him. Because all he could think about was his hand on Isak last night, the bed they were going to share tonight, and the promise of water slipping down Isak’s body. 

And Sonja. Sonja five thousand miles away. Both a very real and a metaphorical distance she had put between them that he was scared wouldn’t close, even when she finally came back. 

He thought so long and hard about these things that the fatigue from barely sleeping last night finally caught up to him. He rubbed his eyes and stood. “I think I’m gonna go take a nap,” he announced. He didn’t look at Isak because he wasn’t sure if he could handle it—that particular wave of guilt and excitement that always seemed to follow him like a cloud. 

“You okay?” Mutta asked, brows knitted together in concern. 

“Yeah. Just tired. I’ll be back out in a while.”

When he walked to the house, he swore he could feel Isak’s eyes on him the whole way there.

By the time he woke up, it was hours later and the sky had turned lilac and rose. His eyes were sore, but his brain was clearer and there were no bad dreams clinging to his back. Only the small glimmer of excitement still sat firmly on his chest. But it was a pleasant weight. One he wanted to lean into. 

He took a picture of the sky from the bedroom window and sent it to Sonja with two purple hearts. Then he made his way downstairs, past Mutta, who was speaking quietly on the phone, and out onto the patio. Several empty beer cans were lying crushed on the ground and the hot tub was bubbling fiercely. 

“Sleeping beauty is back,” Adam teased when Even stepped out. He and Magnus were sunk deep in the water, each holding an arm out with a fresh sweating can of beer. 

Even smiled and came closer.

“Good nap?” Magnus asked. 

Even nodded. “Very good.”

“Well, come on. Get in! Mutta’s talking to his mom, but he’s gonna come out soon. He put a couple pizzas in the oven.”

Even didn’t care about food. He was acutely aware of who was missing though. “Where's everybody else?”

“Went to smoke. They left a while ago, so they’ll probably be back soon.” Adam pointed to a cooler next to the wall. “Oh yeah, and beers are in there.”

Even didn’t know if he could handle drinking—not tonight. Not when so many things were buried for the time being, just waiting to be unearthed now that he was awake. 

He stripped off his shirt and his pants and hung them over the railing that half-enclosed the patio. His bare legs shivered and the cold air slipped through the thin fabric of his boxers. “It’s fucking cold,” he muttered, climbing into the heat of the tub with a long, satisfied sigh. 

“Nice, isn’t it?” 

Even hummed as an answer. It was too nice for talking at the moment, he decided. He wanted to soak in the contentment while he could. 

The jets warbled a drowning song beneath the water, shattering the surface with a small mosaic of silver bubbles and pale foam. Even stretched his legs out before him until his toes crested the top. Water fizzed and popped around his skin and the underwater lights cast in him shimmering shades of purple, pink, blue. 

When he lifted himself out of the water just a few inches, the evening wind caught on his slick skin and sent shivers down his entire body. Sinking back into the heat, letting it rush over all that chilled skin, was indescribably good. He sank down until the water lapped at his chin and soaked the hair at the nape of his neck. 

At some point Magnus had set his phone on a nearby chair and pulled up a playlist of questionable music. But it was hard to care when the beat faded into the background, balanced out by the soothing lullaby of the wind coming off the water and the rush of bubbling water around their skin. 

The pizzas were done before the others came back, so Mutta carried them out and propped them dangerously on the railing that ran parallel to one edge of the hot tub. They ate like that, dripping water over cheese and pepperoni and scarfing pieces down over the bubbling water. 

By the time the others came back, twilight had fully set in and more than half the pizzas had been eaten. 

“Oy, thanks for waiting,” Mahdi said sarcastically as they walked under the dim light of the patio. 

Magnus tipped back the rest of his beer and smiled. “Last to rise, last to eat.”

“Whatever.” 

They began to strip, but all Even could focus on was _not_ focusing on Isak. He knew that, if he allowed himself to look, he’d give himself away in a heartbeat. That no amount of lying or redirection could save him. There were only two people on this trip who were completely ignorant to what had happened between them. And maybe Even was being paranoid. Maybe Jonas, Mahdi, and Mutta didn’t care at all; maybe Isak’s and his interactions were not even a blip on their radar. It was all too possible that Even was just hyperaware and projecting it onto his friends. 

But the chance that they _did_ was nonzero, so Even was careful. When Isak stepped up to the hot tub only in dark boxer briefs that sat high on his thighs, Even forced himself not to look. He watched out of the corner of his eye instead. Watched as Isak tossed his clothes on the grass with the others’ and swung one leg over the side of the tub. 

Even took a drink from his bottle of Coke and allowed his eyes to stray only an inch. Isak climbed in between Adam and Magnus, his dark green boxer briefs turning black as he sank into the water. His abs clenched with the controlled slip down. As soon as he was enveloped in the heat, he made an obscene noise and tipped his head back for a moment. Even remembered the way he’d done that last night, eyes closed and mouth parted. 

Already he was half hard—at both the sight before him and the memory behind his eyes. 

“This is nice,” Mahdi murmured from beside Even, cracking his beer over the side and tipping it until the froth leaked out on the ground. 

Jonas climbed in last, cramming them all together. Despite the hot tub’s size, the fit was still tight. They were all pressed shoulder to shoulder, their legs a web at the center. And Isak was sat directly across from Even, looking every bit a wet dream. 

And the longer they all sat there—soaking, lingering, torturing Even—the worse that dream became. 

The heat had completely set in, winning against the night’s chill. Isak’s skin was flushed and bright, beads of water slipping down his neck. At some point, he’d complained about the crowding and rose several inches out of the water. He’d crossed his hands behind his head and leaned back, the light catching on his collarbones, chest, biceps, nipples, the very top of his abs. 

The butterflies in Even’s stomach had erupted from their cocoon and couldn’t be tamed. Sitting there like that was agony. Isak half on display, his own cock chubbing up in response to it. His friends all around him, talking and laughing, completely unaware of what was happening. Of how much worse they were making this for Even. 

It certainly didn’t help that the heat of the water and the heat of them all pressed together had made Isak’s breath turn shallow, made him breathe in and out through his pursed lips like he’d just been working out. Or fucking. Made his cheeks a pretty pink and his skin glisten with sweat. 

And it was all the worse when Isak actually acknowledged him. When he would glance over at something Even said, let his eyes drop down to Even’s mouth and then his chest before climbing right back up his neck and face. Licked his lips and gave him a look when no one else was paying attention. When he leaned back even farther before sinking down until the water tugged at his curls. 

And Even had to sit there and take it. Like a punishment. Like a prize. And wonder if this was foreplay or all a figment of his overactive, touch-deprived imagination.

Mutta was the first to head to bed. He pulled himself out of the hot tub and wrapped himself in the towel he’d had the forethought to grab. He saluted them and said, “See you guys in the morning,” before slipping inside the house. 

Jonas was next, stealing the last piece of cold pizza before he pulled his dry clothes on over his wet boxers. Then Mahdi. Then Adam, splashing water on them all before he too disappeared inside. 

When it was just himself, Isak, and Magnus, Even felt the pressure more than he had all day. He wanted nothing more for this night to be over. For this night to begin. 

“Well,” Isak said, capturing Even’s attention instantly. “I’m gonna shower before I go to sleep.” He looked right at Even. “You sleeping with me tonight?”

That question did cruel things to Even’s guts. Made him even harder. “Yeah,” he answered, “I am.”

“Okay.” Isak kept the direct eye contact as he planted both hands on the edge of the tub behind him and pulled himself out. A thin sheet of water cascaded down his hard chest and abs and his wet briefs fell dangerously low on his soft, pale hips. Even looked back up into those eyes, entranced. 

“I’ll leave you a towel on the sink,” Isak said, pulling one leg out and spreading his legs in the process. “If you want to shower.”

Even’s throat felt tight. “Thanks,” was all he could manage to say.

It wasn’t until Isak had finally made his way out of the hot tub and inside that Even remembered he wasn’t completely alone. That Magnus was right beside him, taking it all in. Taking Even all in. 

When he did speak, Even wished he hadn’t. 

“Do you want to fuck him or something?” Magnus’ words were slurred. He’d drank far too many beers over the course of the day and night, and it was showing. He might not even remember asking this question in the morning, but it didn’t make Even’s heart beat any slower. 

“Why are you asking me that?” Even asked slowly. 

Magnus shrugged nonchalantly. Far too nonchalantly given the tiny explosions going off in Even’s brain. “You were staring pretty hard. Didn’t know if you, like, were attracted to him.” He drained the last can of beer and belched. “Don’t get me wrong. Isak’s an attractive dude. I just wouldn’t think he’s your type.”

Even forced himself to think of a calm answer. One that was diplomatic, that wouldn’t make him look automatically guilty. “I don’t have a type.” That was a lie. “And yeah, Isak’s attractive, but no, I don’t want to fuck him.” That might’ve been a lie too. Even wasn’t sure yet.

But Magnus hadn’t given up. In his drunken stupor, he looked as lost as ever. “If you want to hook up with Isak, you should go for it. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

“I’m not gonna hook up with Isak,” Even said, feeling guiltier and guiltier with each lie that passed through his mouth. Before Magnus could force more lies, Even said, “Let’s get out, yeah? It’s getting late and you probably need to sleep off the forty beers you had before we go home tomorrow.”

Magnus grinned lazily and lopsided. “Yeah, okay.”

Even helped Magnus out, trying not to curse him internally the whole time. Turned off the hot tub, gathered their clothes, and guided him inside and up the stairs. 

When they got to the bedroom, Magnus fell face down onto the bed, wet boxers and all. 

“Magnus.” Even tapped his clammy leg. “Dude, you’ve gotta put on actual clothes.”

Magnus groaned but rolled over, taking the sweater Even handed him and pulling it over his head. When Even handed him a pair of soft pajama pants, Magnus reached for his underwear and began to push them down. 

Even turned around and grabbed his own pair of clothes to change into, then flicked off the bedroom light. “Night, Mags. Sleep well.”

“Night, Even,” he heard just before he closed the door behind him. 

Even took a minute to just stand there. To listen to the rustle of clothes behind the door and the impressively quick snoring thereafter. To stare at the closed door of Isak’s bedroom and wonder what he was doing inside. 

It was the nervous excitement of that thought that had him eager to get his shower over with. The bathroom was as hot as a furnace, completely steamed over on every slick surface. The scent of Isak’s soap was strong, bubbles still fizzing on the floor of the shower. A wet wash rag was slung over the side, dripping water onto the floor. 

He turned on the shower, stripped naked, and stepped under the spray far too quickly. Ice water shivered down his body. But rather than flinch away from it, Even embraced it. Let it wash away all the blind lust building in him and clear his mind of all thoughts. 

He washed quickly, trying to focus on the slippery feel of soap on his skin and the thick lather in his hair. He was both excited and anxious when he was done, ready and totally unprepared. Wishing that it was over and glad that it wasn’t.

He dressed with his mind somewhere else, scrubbed a towel across his head absentmindedly. Didn’t dare to even think about what could or could not happen until he was outside Isak’s bedroom door, hesitating with his fist halfway in the air. 

He didn’t know what the etiquette for this kind of situation was. Should he knock? Or was it more polite—more socially acceptable—to wait until Isak opened the door himself? Was there any etiquette at all to slipping into bed with the boy you’d introduced, however temporarily, into your open relationship? 

He laid his fist against the door and felt it shiver beneath his knuckles. It opened a moment later. Isak was rubbing a fluffy towel against the side of his head; where he worked, the curls fluffed and frizzed. He was wearing his soft pajama pants and a baggy black NWA t-shirt that was a dark shock against the pale of his neck. 

He cocked a brow. “You rang?”

Even huffed out a small laugh. “Cute,” he said without thinking. When he realized what he’d said, he fought off the grimace he wanted to make and instead faked a bigger smile. “Can I...come in?”

“Oh. Yeah.” Isak stepped back and threw his wet towel on the floor beside a small pile of dirty clothes.

Even didn’t care to hide the fact that he was openly taking in every aspect of Isak’s room—a room which, judging by the state of the rest of the house, had not been occupied by him for some time. 

The walls were a garish yellow and strangely empty. There were no memes, no scraps ripped out of magazines, no posters, no handwritten notes—nothing like the bedroom Even had seen back in Oslo. Nothing like Isak’s sister’s room across the hall. He expected to maybe see a photo or two framed on the dresser or the nightstand, but those were bare as well. It was a desolate room completely at odds with the boy standing before him. 

“Which side of the bed do you want?” Isak asked. He dropped his eyes when Even looked over and pulled his fingers through a thick tangle of curls near his temple. 

Even looked at the bed like it might give him some guidance, or at least some semblance of levity in a situation that was quickly becoming awkward and stilted. For half a second, Even wondered if he should just brave sleeping with Magnus for one more night. 

But then he remembered _Maybe we can…_ He remembered that Isak had had every chance to _not_ agree to let Even into his bed tonight. He remembered Isak’s hands in his hair and Isak’s lips parting under his tongue. 

“Either side is fine.”

Isak nodded like that was the answer he expected. He walked around to the right side of the bed, dropped into a crouch, and plugged in his phone—all without saying a word or looking Even in the eyes. 

He climbed into bed with all his clothes still on and tucked the blanket around his waist before letting both arms drop to his sides. When he was still, he finally looked at Even, who had not moved since he came in. 

Isak quirked a brow. “Are you coming?” he asked slowly. 

Even took a step toward the bed, but Isak stopped him. 

“Actually-” He lifted up onto his elbows. “-could you shut the door?” When Even did, the click felt as loud as a gunshot. But before he could move away, Isak made another request. “And lock it?”

Even raised a brow back. 

Isak looked away, but his eyes came right back. It was clear he was embarrassed, if only a little, but was determined not to let it overpower what he wanted. “I always sleep with the door locked.”

Even turned the lock slowly until it latched into place. “Afraid of the boogeyman?”

Isak rolled his eyes and the tension Even hadn’t yet fully acknowledged lifted only the slightest bit. “Afraid of the boogeyman,” he muttered like he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. 

Even smiled, a little charmed by Isak’s attitude. But then he looked back at the bed and realized once more the conundrum he was faced with: he didn’t typically sleep with all his clothes on. Usually he slept naked, but with friends, at the very most he’d keep his boxers or shorts on. 

But Isak was no ordinary friend. Sometimes it was hard to think of him as a friend at all. In Even’s mind, he occupied his own space—one of which no one else was a part. 

And it certainly didn’t help that Isak had kept everything on, down to the thick socks on his feet. If he was following Isak rules, it seemed as if Even was fated to the same boiling hot sleep. 

So he pressed a knee into the surprisingly soft bed and climbed in, already wildly uncomfortable with the way his pants rode up his calves, brushed against the fine hairs there, as he tucked himself in. 

The bed was big enough, but Isak was broad and they were two grown men. Despite Even aligning himself with the very edge of the bed, their shoulders were still pressed together. It was not a comfortable press either, bones rubbing together and an ache forming beneath his skin already. 

“Do, uh-” Isak cleared his throat, but only made the gravel worse. It was sexy in a way that made Even angry at himself for even _finding_ it sexy. “Do you sleep with music or anything?”

“Not really. But we can. I won’t mind.”

“Okay.” Isak rolled onto his side and reached for his phone, flicking through it before he found something soft and low to replace the heavy silence of the room. The sound of the lamp’s pull-chain was another bullet slotting into the chamber; the warm amber glow of the lamp died and the room went dark. 

When Isak finally lay back down, he asked, “Are you sure the sound won’t keep you up?”

“No,” he murmured. “I’ll be fine.” And he would. It wouldn’t be the music keeping him up. It would be Isak himself. There was no way Even could lie there beside Isak all night with Isak’s shoulder pressed over his, their hands an inch apart over the covers, their legs still and stiff. There was no way he could find sleep when all he could think about was _Maybe we can…_ and whether Isak regretted doing anything at all. 

He thought so long and so hard that he worked himself into doubt. Until he couldn’t hold that doubt back any longer. 

“Are you sure this is okay?” he whispered over the low beat of the music and the gentle whir of the fan overhead. 

Isak shifted. “What do you mean?”

Even let his head fall to the side. The room was dark enough that he couldn’t make out every nuance in Isak’s face. But the muted glow of Isak’s phone limned him in a shifting silver light that was enough for Even to go by. He kept his eyes trained for any minute change as he spoke. 

“I mean, I know Magnus basically offered your room up for you.”

Isak shrugged his shoulder in a twitching movement. “It’s fine. I don’t care. And at least this way you’ll actually get some sleep.”

Even didn’t like the formal, almost restrained way they were talking to one another. Earlier, he’d been excited for this—even if that excitement had been cut by guilt. But now he was quickly approaching misery. He liked the quick, sharp way Isak sometimes talked to him, how it kept him almost constantly on edge. He wanted that. 

So he made a last ditch effort of pulling that Isak to the surface before admitting defeat and slinking off to a night with Magnus. 

“I don’t know,” he said, stretching the words out in a taunting tone. “Magnus snores, but he also cuddles. What exactly are _you_ offering?”

Isak scoffed, turned his head to the side to meet Even’s gaze. He narrowed his eyes and looked back toward the ceiling. “You’re sleeping in _my_ bed, in _my_ room, so if anyone should be offering up something, it’s you.”

Even’s smirk threatened to turn into a smile. “Is that so?”

Isak hummed, “Mmhmm. So unless you can cough up the money, you won’t be getting any cuddling here.”

Even sighed playfully. “The only problem is that I didn’t bring cash with me.”

Isak was quick. “I take debit too.”

“My account is cleaned out.”

“That’s too bad.”

Even made a disappointed sound that almost didn’t land because he was smiling too hard. “I’m sure we could work something else out.”

Isak looked back over. “You think you have something I want?”

“Maybe.”

Isak tilted his chin down and gave Even a skeptical look—a look that was dampened by the playfulness still evident in his eyes even in the dark. Even stared back, long and hard, before it got to be too much and Isak finally turned his head again.

It didn’t stop Even from looking though, now that he was free to. At the slope of Isak’s nose, the shape of his jaw, the purse of his lips as he stared up at nothing, the silver-white highlight on the tips of his curls. 

“What about kisses?” Even asked. Even the darkness seemed to still. His heart began to claw its way out of his chest and up his throat. “Can they be used as currency?”

Isak was quiet for several long beats. And then, “Are they even worth that much?”

Even rolled over onto his side and tucked both hands beneath his temple. He could just barely make out Isak watching his movements out of his periphery. 

“I don’t know,” Even said in a low voice. “You tell me.”

Isak went impossibly still—so still that Even could make out the gentle shadow of the heartbeat in his throat jump up and down.

Then Isak hummed like he was pretending to mull the direction over. His lips parted like he was going to say something, but he stopped. Licked his lips. And then asked, “What’s the exchange rate?”

Even thought about it. “One kiss is equal to 50 kroner.”

Isak looked over with raised brows. “ _50_?”

“Yep.”

“That’s pretty steep for one kiss.”

Even let his mouth fall open in faux offense. “Are you kidding? I’ll have you know people pay good money for my kisses.”

“So you’re a prostitute.”

“Only for kisses,” Even assured him. 

Isak looked skeptical. “So I’d be getting the same rate as everyone else? That doesn’t sound like much of a deal to me.”

“I can throw in something extra for you. But just because we’re friends.”

Isak’s eyes moved all over Even’s face. “Do I get a friends discount?”

Even made a low _ooh_ sound. “I’m afraid not. Can’t be making a habit of just giving kisses away for cheap.”

Isak rolled his eyes and shook his head, but the telltale lift of one corner of his mouth made Even’s heart soar with delight. 

“Stingy,” Isak muttered. 

“ _Me_?” Even withdrew one of his hands to place it over his chest. “You’re the one trying to cheat me out of my due.”

That got Isak’s full attention. “Your due?” He rolled over onto his side to mirror Even, knocking their knees together before pulling his legs back. “This started out with _you_ owing _me_.”

“Whatever you say.” Even pushed his lips together to hide the utter satisfaction he was getting from Isak being like this—alert, playful, waggish. Utterly enchanting.

Isak _tsk_ ed several times. “I don’t know if I want to do business with a con artist.” 

The playful disappointment coupled with Isak’s smile and smell and closeness made it impossible for Even not to smile. When Isak noticed the smile spreading across Even’s face, he smiled back, albeit confusedly. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” Even was quick to say. And then, because he couldn’t help it, “You’re cute.”

That seemed to take Isak off guard. He froze for a moment. Narrowed his eyes, then searched Even’s face for clues or answers to his unspoken question. Whether he found them or not, he eventually turned onto his back once more. “Flattery won’t work with me,” he said in a low voice. 

“No?” When Isak shook his head, Even asked, “What will?”

Isak shrugged and glanced over. “That’s not my problem to figure out.”

Even said nothing to that. Instead, he let the quiet reclaim the room. Listened to the sound of Isak’s soft breathing, the low melody on his phone, the white noise of the fan. The muted thud of his own heartbeat in his ears and throat. 

And he watched Isak with darkness draped all over him. Watched Isak watch him back for so long that even the atoms in the room seemed to swell with anticipation. Until invisible static crackled in his ear. Until he couldn’t help himself anymore. 

And because he couldn’t help it anymore, he went up on his elbow. Steadied himself by planting his free hand on the bed between them, the tips of his fingers grazing Isak’s arm. Leaned forward slowly, just so Isak could watch him do it. And so he could watch Isak watch him. 

Isak kept his eyes open until the very last second. Until Even got close enough that their worlds blurred and their skin touched and their breaths mingled. Until he kissed Isak slowly, sweetly. Lingering for much too long before pulling back only an inch—still close enough that just a breath would have them back together again. 

“What about that?” Even murmured, picking up the tailend of their conversation out of nowhere. 

Isak caught on quickly. “It’s a start,” he whispered back before wrapping his hand behind Even’s neck and pulling him back in. 

With the lights off, cool air slinking along their exposed skin, and a soft blanket around them, they were right back to where they’d left off the night before. Only this time, there was no slow climb up the mountain, no hesitant exchange of kisses. No anticipation if what he was doing was unwanted, unwarranted. 

This time, Isak slid his tongue against Even’s first. Pulled him closer and closer and closer. Buried his hands in Even’s damp hair, twisting the strands between his fingers. 

Even tensed his body, tried to stay still. He wasn’t exactly in a comfortable position. His shoulder was pushing up against its socket and his hand was shaking where it was still planted between them. He didn’t dare cross the line. But if Isak showed him he wanted the same thing, he’d do so in a heartbeat. 

The longer they kissed, it seemed, the more restless Isak became in his movements. His hands were more insistent when they raked through Even’s hair, gently pulling a fistful every so often, almost like a test. He strained his neck forward to part his lips and slide his tongue against Even’s. And he began to move his hips and legs—tiny, restive movements where he slid his feet up the bed, only to lay his legs flat again; minute shifts of his knee until it was pressing firmly against Even’s; the gentle rise and fall of his entire body, moving like a young wave. 

So Even shifted closer. Slid his knee over Isak’s until it was locked between his legs and their thighs were pressed together. Smoothed his hand over Isak’s abs, which tensed like rock beneath his palm, until his hand was planted firmly on the other side of him. Shifted his weight so that his dick accidentally brushed against Isak’s hip. 

Even moaned into Isak’s mouth and fisted the sheets—to hold back, to let out some of the frustration screaming through his entire body. It didn’t help that Isak had trailed his hands down Even’s neck, using just the blunt tips of his nails to press into his skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake. He wanted nothing more than to roll his hips again, to feel that fleeting pressure once more. 

Isak couldn’t keep his hands still. They roamed across Even’s shoulders, down his chest, and around his ribs. Grasped at the cotton, then released. When Isak came down to the hem of Even’s shirt, he lingered there. Let his fingers play a beat against Even’s body until he was brave enough to slip them beneath the fabric and touch the soft skin of Even’s hips. The moment he did, a zing of raw pleasure shot straight down to Even’s toes. 

It made Even still. Pull back from the kiss—just enough that their lips still touched and they shared ragged breaths. 

And Isak ran his palms over Even’s sides: made Even’s muscles tremble, dipped his fingertips under the bands of his pants and boxers, let them snap back against his skin. He pressed a sweet kiss to Even’s mouth and pulled at his hips—insistently, tugging, both hands molded to Even’s sides, pulling, _pulling_ —until Even shifted over and climbed fully between his legs. 

Even hovered over him for a moment. Let himself look at the boy beneath him. At the messy curls that framed his face. The heavy, low-lidded eyes that on any other day were green, but tonight were black as oil. At the deep, dark shadows beneath his sharp cheekbones. The slick shine of his mouth. 

Isak raised his chin and pulled Even back down—one hand back around his neck, the other at his waist. The moment Even relaxed into the cradle between Isak’s legs, he felt the hard press of Isak’s cock against his hip. Just the mere brush of their bodies together had Isak sighing into his mouth, fisting the hair at the nape of his neck with trembling hands. 

Even reached into his boxers, readjusted, and rolled his hips. The moment his dick slid against Isak’s, white stars began popping behind Even’s eyes and his skin began to prickle. Isak moaned and one hand grasped greedily at him, pressing flat and hard against the small of his back in order to make Even do it again. 

So he did. He grinded his hips against Isak’s over and over and over again, pressing their dicks together and making fireworks dance up and down his body with each pass. He’d stopped kissing Isak and instead tucked his face into the side of Isak’s neck, completely enveloped in his smell. 

Without really thinking about it, he snaked his hand between them both and pressed the heel of it firmly down the length of Isak’s dick. Isak shuddered and murmured “Fuck” in a voice that was gravel and sex, lifting his hips to chase the touch of Even’s hand on him. 

He knew he would do anything in the world to get Isak to make that sound again, to move his body like that. So instead of rubbing his hand back down, he crawled his fingers along the top of Isak’s pajamas, let them dip beneath the fabric to skirt across the tight vee of Isak’s hips. 

Isak’s breath had gone shallow, but his heartbeat was going insane. It drummed a beat against his ribs that Even could hear still tucked into his neck. A fierce beat that wasn’t slowing down at all—only growing more insistent the longer Even touched him. 

The next pass over, Even let his hand smooth farther down. He followed the line down Isak’s hip and fit his thumb into the juncture where hip met thigh, pressing down into the soft skin there. Isak sucked in a breath and turned his head to exhale into Even’s ear. The breath shuddered over his skin and shivered down his spine. 

Even could hardly handle all the feelings rushing through him, both physically and mentally. His whole body was a heartbeat—pulsing everywhere. And his mind had a hard time coming to terms that he was here, in Isak’s bed, between his legs, touching him, breathing him in, listening to his sounds. And there was no end in sight. Not unless he made it happen. 

And he wanted to. So badly. Despite the fact that he also never wanted this end. 

He kissed the flushed skin of Isak’s neck and pulled back. Looked Isak in the eyes and pressed another wet kiss to his mouth. Put his weight on one hand, used the other to pick at the knot at the front of Isak’s pajamas. 

When it loosened beneath his fingers, he did his best to shove the pants down while still pressing small, absentminded kisses to Isak’s lips, chin, jaw, cheek. Isak moved to help him and their hands fumbled together, pushing the soft flannel down Isak’s hips and thighs and over his calves until they were off and thrown to the floor. 

Even wasted no time in reaching back to cup one of Isak’s knees and running his hand up the entire length of Isak’s strong thigh, feeling it flex and tremble beneath his touch. He made a quick, barely there sweep over Isak’s dick before curling his fingers around the band of Isak’s underwear and tugging them halfway down his hips—just enough that he could run his fingers down Isak’s stomach and finally wrap his hand around the hardness he’d been teasing since last night. 

Isak’s dick was smooth to the touch and hot. Petal soft and harder than anything he’d ever felt. It twitched in his palm and Even couldn’t help but look down just to see it all happen. 

The room was dark, but it couldn’t hide how big Isak looked, even in his hand. Even fisted the head loosely and stroked down, all the way to the base, and back up again. And then he did it again, just to watch how Isak’s face changed when he was being touched. Teased. 

Isak looked...divine when he was touched. His mouth fell open and his eyes were low, almost closed. He ran a hand harshly through his own hair and his bicep worked, flexing as his hand curled into the strands. Even wondered how that bicep would work and flex if Isak touched him back. 

He wondered what Isak would look like when he came. 

Even stroked, smoothed his hand softly over Isak’s balls before tracing a single line up the underside. Gripped his cock again and tugged once, twice, three times. Isak let out a dreamy moan that rattled around inside Even’s skull and burrowed into his brain to hide forever—to remind him, at any given time, that this had happened. That he made Isak feel and sound this way. 

He made it slow and tight. Watched Isak’s cockhead disappear into the curl of his fist for a few strokes before he couldn’t wait to kiss him again. The warm slide of their lips together and the hot slide of his hand on Isak’s dick were enough to have him feeling the very suggestion of an orgasm around the edges of his body, despite the fact that he’d done nothing but roll his hips against Isak’s a few times. It started at the base of his spine and crawled up his bones, making his own hand stutter where it moved between them. 

He was so focused on how good he felt making Isak feel good that he almost missed the way Isak’s toes were curling, the way his hips were jerking, the way his hands had found their way back into Even’s hair, twisting the strands around his fingers. 

He was moaning like he’d never felt anything so good in his life and it made Even burst with a dangerous type of pride. One that made him want to tell every living soul of this thing he had done to this beautiful boy. 

“Keep going,” Isak said against Even’s mouth, like he didn’t even mean to. Like Even would ever dream of stopping now that they were alone and draped in darkness. Now that anyone who could interrupt them was miles away or behind the locked door. 

It only took another stroke or two and a stuttering breath before Isak’s jaw went slack on a silent moan. He pulled Even’s hair painfully and leaned his head back, neck stretching like a taunt for Even’s mouth. 

“I’m gonna come,” he murmured breathlessly half a second before he spilled over Even’s hand. 

Even barely had time to ruck Isak’s shirt up with his other hand before cum splattered across the pale stretch of stomach. 

Even worked him through it, watched Isak ride it out. The way Isak moaned quietly was a hymn Even wanted to hear him sing again and again and again and again. 

When it was over, Even shifted onto his side of the bed, leaning back against the headboard, and Isak sagged back into the sheets. Isak opened his eyes after a few beats and stared up at the ceiling, his chest heaving harshly. A faint smile brightened the edges of his mouth. His shirt was bunched up around his ribs, his underwear pushed down around his hips, and there was cum all over him, but he was still a pretty sight. A beautiful one even. 

He turned his head and looked over at Even, dark eyes softening. Studied Even, painted his face with that heady gaze. Then turned over and moved like he was going to kiss him, but stopped himself at the last moment. 

Isak grimaced and looked down at the mess on his belly. Quicker than Even could realize what was happening, Isak pulled his shirt off by the back of the collar and bunched it up in his hands before proceeding to wipe down his stomach. The cotton smeared his cum down his abs, making the mess even worse, before he passed over them again and again until his skin was clean—only a faint sheen of evidence still left behind. 

Isak held the shirt out to Even. Even took it, wiped his hand as best as he could on the dirty material, and tossed it on the ground carelessly. Isak was still looking at him, like he was waiting. Or mustering up courage. 

Whatever it was, it seemed he’d found it. Or at least a little of it. Isak crawled over shaky knees and sat on his heels—uncertain, wanting, waiting. Even didn’t know what Isak wanted. Even didn’t know what _he_ wanted. But he knew that he would probably follow wherever Isak went. 

After a few moments of silence, of contemplation, Isak leaned in for a kiss. But instead of aiming for Even’s mouth, he ducked and pressed his lips right beneath Even’s jaw. Even dropped his head back against the wall without meaning to—didn’t even feel the dull thud it rattled through his skull. The featherlight brush of Isak’s mouth did crazy things to his nerves, made them light up like sparklers. 

Isak moved down along Even’s jaw, ghosting his lips over the soft, heated skin like he was exploring what it felt like. Pursed his lips against the battering heartbeat that had Even feeling lightheaded. Dragged his mouth back and forth across the pulse before climbing up and placing a firm kiss on the soft spot beneath Even’s ear. 

A full flush rolled down Even’s entire body, scalp to neck to chest to groin and all the way to his toes. Electricity followed. 

Isak’s uncertain hands tugged at the hem of Even’s shirt until Even sat forward, then he pulled it over his head. Threw it somewhere without care. He placed his palm on Even’s pec, pulled it down. Even held his breath. His belly quivered when Isak’s fingers searched across his hip, over his stomach, and down. Down. Down. 

Isak seemed to hesitate a moment. Lingering too low on Even’s stomach, his heat branding Even’s skin. And then he moved, slowly pushed his fingers beneath the elastic band of Even’s boxers. 

Even’s pulse raced, his blood was soaring, his skin was prickling. And his head was swimming. 

When Isak wrapped his hand around Even’s dick, Even moaned long and low. Squeezed his eyes shut and lost all the air in his lungs. Could barely count the number of beats his heart played. Without meaning to, his hand had reached out to squeeze Isak’s thigh, to hold on to him. To ground himself. 

For a moment, Isak didn’t move. Just kept his hand there, looking at it around Even. Eyes drunk on the sight. 

When he finally did move, Isak went slow. Worked the head of Even’s cock, then slipped his fist down the entire length before coming back up. He leaned forward to hover his lips over Even’s, breathing against his lips. 

Isak sped it up. Did a few shallow strokes before tightening his grip again, pressed his lips closer to Even’s, but didn’t kiss him. Just lingered. Just teased. 

Even was panting. Sweating. Wishing that Isak would slow down. Wishing he would make it even faster. Hoping he’d recall every detail any time he wanted once this was done. Praying that he wouldn’t come too soon in Isak’s hand. 

But his body had other plans. Everything else before this was kindling on the fire. Isak grinding his hips against Even’s at the club, his legs spread in his bedroom window, his ass pressed against Even’s lap, him tucked against Even in the cold on the balcony. Their lips and tongues moving together, their hands roaming.

Even felt like a teenager again. It felt like he’d never been touched before, the way his body lit up from the inside out—bright as the sun and moon combined. His brain had lost all thoughts but the _Yes, yes, yes_ chanting through it. Too many sensations warring for his focus and attention. 

Isak twisted his wrist just right and Even melted even more. His orgasm was close, tingling right there in his toes, climbing up his legs. It would only take another stroke or two and-

He’d crested the top of the rollercoaster and he was falling. Ecstasy rushed through his body. He dissolved, bones and muscles falling apart. He felt the warmth of his own cum hitting his stomach and chest. Felt the tip of Isak’s tongue against his bottom lip. Felt the pump of Isak’s hand going, wet with cum, making everything last and last and last. Nothing existed but Isak. Only Isak and his hand, his lips, his thigh under Even’s hand. 

When the rush finally receded, everything was still. The cells in his blood and the particles in the air. Nothing moved—not until Isak and Even did. 

Even opened his eyes. Isak was too close and the room was too dark, but he thought that maybe he could make out a smile on the corners of that sharp mouth. A smile that made Even smile back, breathless and brainless.

He leaned forward the inch that separated them and pressed his lips against Isak’s, enjoying the slow, sexy way it lasted between them. When they pulled apart, Even looked down at his stomach and grimaced. 

“Hold on,” Isak murmured. “I’ll be right back.” 

He shifted and slid off the bed, pulled his briefs back over his hips, and unlocked and slipped out the door, closing it behind him. As soon as he had gone, it was like the world rushed back in. 

The realization that he had just touched another person, another person that was not his girlfriend, hit him like a sledgehammer to the skull. _I did that_ , he thought dazedly. He’d made Isak come, had it on his hands, and Isak had done the same. Isak had touched him the same way Sonja did…

And Even had liked it. Wished the night would turn back just so he could live it over again. He never wanted to forget what that had felt like, wanted it threaded with a needle through the tissue of his brain so it was a part of him. Never to be forgotten.

He wanted to forget every detail.

But when Isak came back in, the world quieted again. The guilt that made his throat thick waned. His anxiety calmed. His shame withered away. And then it was just the two of them and the evidence of what they’d done all over Even’s torso. 

Isak climbed back into bed and wiped the wet rag in his hand over Even’s stomach. Even flinched at the cold.

“Sorry,” Isak whispered, reaching to clean Even’s chest next. His touch was gentle and he took care to wipe down every part until Even was completely clean. When he was done, he placed the rag on the nightstand and then sat, looking over at Even. 

Even wasn’t sure what he should say. If there was anything _to_ say. If they should talk about what had just happened or if they should leave it—an experience that only they would know.

“Won’t that mildew?” is what he ended up saying, stupidly. 

Isak frowned. Even tilted his head toward the nightstand where the dirty rag was balled up.

“Oh,” Isak said. “No, I’ll probably just throw it away or something.”

“And your shirt?”

“I’ll wash it back at the apartment.”

Even nodded, but said nothing more. Instead, he watched Isak watch him, those big eyes glinting inky black. When Isak dropped his eyes, it was like a string had been cut in Even’s chest and he sank backward in the bed. 

Silently, Isak climbed under the blanket and tucked it up to his chin. The bare skin of his legs touched Even’s and Even found that he liked the warmth. 

They were silent for a long time, left only with the low music still playing on Isak’s phone and the soothing spin of the fan. Even was tired, but he’d never been so awake, never been privy to such a screaming silence.

And then, oh so quietly, Isak opened his mouth.

“Do you regret it?”

There was a maelström whirling in Even’s brain and it was threatening to take him under. The only thing keeping him afloat was Isak beside him and the barely there touch of their legs.

Slowly, carefully, Even smoothed his hand across the bed between them until he felt Isak’s. He traced his pinky over the soft skin, dipping it between each of Isak’s fingers before he linked their pinkies together—one over the other.

“No,” he finally answered. 

He wasn’t completely sure if he meant it. But he knew, in that minute at least, it was the truth.


End file.
